Virgin Snow
by sangre antigua
Summary: The virgin, pure snow catches Jackie’s tortured, frightened eyes and actually brings him happiness—but Bobby keeps them. Based when Jack first comes into the Mercer household. JackxBobby/Slash; R rating for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

**Author:** sangre antigua/TR4G1C [old penname].

**Rating; Title; Pairing:** R; Virgin Snow; Jack/Bobby.

**Summary:** The virgin, pure snow catches Jackie's tortured, frightened eyes and actually brings him happiness—but Bobby keeps them. Based when Jack first comes into the Mercer household. JackxBobby/Slash; R rating for later chapters.

**Warning/Disclaimer:** I do not own Four Brothers (sadly…), but the plot is mine and a lot of the extra information is mine, as well. The ages will be different in this story, just so they'll fit well with what I'm typing and how everything is going down. Also, I'm sorry if it's long—I ramble. ): Also, there will be mature themes so…yeah.

Enjoy!

- - - - -

Out of all of the places that he had "lived", the snow in Detroit fell the hardest.

Not that he minded, though; how could he mind? The snow was so pretty in its pure (and blinding) white color, most of it virginal and untouched. The blankets of snow that were unaffected by playing children, quickly driving cars and running dogs, were his favorite, no doubt, just because they were so damn…mesmerizing. He could stare at it all day if given the opportunity, get lost in deep thought and stay there for a good while.

Winter, by far, was the best season in his eyes. Or, well, most of the time. Some of the time, the winter was his worst enemy. Being thrown outside in a pair of boxers and into the snow for no apparent reason was not his idea of "fun". But no one really paid attention to what Jack (now "Mercer", or so he had been told; he didn't really give a damn, he'd probably have that name revoked in a good month or so) thought was entertaining, or what was in his best interest. Most people simply did the opposite.

If he showed interest in something, they would take it away or simply break it right before his eyes; if he showed any element of hunger or if he acted like he was thirsty, they would taunt him with their own food and their own beverages; if he "acted out" (which usually meant he gave someone a "wrong look" or the like), he got bitched out—and _then_ had the shit knocked out of him, just because.

The food taunts were among the worst, though. He could sneak water from the faucet in the bathroom or in the kitchen when no one was around, but everyone seemed to have hawk eyes when it came to the fridge and cabinets, and their contents. He seldom ate as it was, so the taunts just made his stomach turn on itself, angry because it could not have anything to quench the pain that he felt inside.

But _that_ pain was better than most of the pain that he had felt in his lifetime.

At the thought, Jack "Mercer" shuddered. The frail boy wiggled in his seat beside Evelyn Mercer, the woman who had just adopted him. He refused to look at her unless she was speaking to him because one-too-many times he had given his foster parents a "wrong look" and had got punished for it. He couldn't really grasp that concept, giving someone a "wrong look" when he was simply looking at them, but Jackie took whatever was thrown at him because fighting a battle in which he was already doomed was just pointless. Angering his foster parents was not something that Jack liked to do, though he seemed to do it a lot.

"Are you excited to meet your brothers?" Evelyn asked softly, gradually coming to a stop at the freshly changed red light before them. She turned to look at Jack and offered the youth a gentle smile, which caused Jack's chest to hurt a little bit. No one smiled at him without a hidden agenda. Everyone in some way was going to get him, it was all just a matter of time.

Jack thought about her question for a moment. Under any normal circumstance, a thirteen-year-old boy would've been ecstatic to be told he was meeting his brothers, but Jack did not fall under that category. All of the other brothers that he had had were either severally messed up in the head, extremely violent or pedophiles, like the people that housed them. To please his new "mother", Jack would've liked to say "yes", but lying always got him into _so_ much trouble. So he just nodded his head to her and put on a small, barely visible smile, because showing compliance usually got him away without too many marks.

"I've got three boys, they're all really sweet. I think you'll like them. Have I told you anything about them yet?" she continued, pushing on the gas as the light flickered from red to green. Her voice was so soft, so cautious—it made him want to trust her, but many a time had his trust been broken. It was best to continue playing the defensive. Everyone seemed nice at first.

He shook his head. Evelyn had told him the bare minimum about her boys, but when she did so Jack…just wasn't paying attention to her. His mind was somewhere else. Having her repeat what she said wouldn't hurt her, would it? _No, it won't hurt her,_ Jackie thought. He shook his head again and then began to chew on his lower lip, while he cleaned under his nails. It wasn't that they were dirty (they were, though, oh they were), but cleaning under his nails was a nervous, time-occupying habit. His eyes shifted sheepishly from Evelyn to the dashboard, from the dashboard to the floor, and from the floor to the snow outside. Currently, it was layered on top of itself like pancakes or waffles in the morning, except for the snow was freezing cold and not steamy, nor delicious, like the flowery breakfast foods. Speaking of warm food…

Jack could eat half of his weight in practically anything at this moment in time. His stomach moaning and groaning just showed that. After his stomach had silenced itself, his cheeks adopted a rosy shade of pink.

If Evelyn heard his stomach talking, she ignored it, but her smile seemed to grow a little more, Jack noticed. Maybe she was just thinking about her children, or maybe she was enjoying his stomach pains. "You'll probably meet Jeremiah first. He's the second—well, third now—oldest of my boys at nineteen, and probably the friendliest—or easiest to make friends with right off the bat. Jerry's a true sweetheart, that boy is. Then, I'm almost certain you'll stumble upon Angel. Angel, he's _almost_ eighteen. He's so eager to be legal, y'know how that is…but he'll have to wait a few more months. He's a little playful and sarcastic, but like his older brother, he's a sweetheart. And then there's Bobby." She stopped to laugh softly, turning a corner as she did so. "Bobby's the oldest—he's a firecracker. Almost twenty one, he is. Can't believe how he's aged…but, anyways. He can be rather sarcastic and brutish, but like his brothers, he's a sweetheart. Bobby means the best, he always does," she finished. "They're all eagerly waiting for you at home."

He twitched softly when she told him that they were waiting for him. Why were they waiting? No one ever waited for him to do anything unless they wanted _something_ in return. Jackie prayed softly within himself, asking whoever above would listen to him to make this house a little nicer than the ones he usually went to. Not like the ones in Illinois, Ohio or Indiana, which were by-far the worst, but a little nicer. He was only asking for a little, too!

"Well, Jackie, we're here," Evelyn cooed as she pulled into the back driveway of her home. The building was gray from behind because of large slate bricks, but the front was a pastel, sunny yellow. Honestly, Jackie could've cared less if the house was just a normal brick building or if it was a gigantic purple dome. It was a house (one that he probably wouldn't be in for very long) and, more importantly, it was the final destination of their journey. Which, ultimately, meant he could get up and stretch his legs.

They had been driving from the adoption agency in Lansing, Michigan for about an hour and a half and it had been one of the most awkward experiences of his life. He had just wanted to sit there and enjoy the scenery, think to himself for a little bit, but Evelyn insisted on keeping a steady conversation going, though they died every now and then and had to be resurrected constantly. It was really uncomfortable, just sitting there, as he was too intimidated and scared to really speak.  
Thus, he was left to his own devices: his thoughts, his paranoia, his fears. Was this place going to be like all of the others (the fact that Evelyn had "adopted" made him feel _no_ better, what so ever)? What was the point in talking to this woman? Most of the time, he got smacked for whatever he said, if not _worse_. Hell, some of the time that he _didn't_ talk, he got punished.

He hadn't answered a single question completely in about fifty-five minutes and Evelyn had yet to smack him. That was a good sign, right? Maybe it was because she was driving; maybe it was because he hadn't said anything to defy her authority; or maybe, just maybe, she genuinely was going to take care of him. Jack bit his lip hard once the last thought drifted through his mind.

_Fat chance in hell for that to ever happen. No one wants me_, he told himself, and sighed gently.

Oh well; at least they had stopped driving now. Jack's butt was going numb from sitting down for so long.

"Your bag is in the back, right?" she asked, and he nodded back to her. She then unbuckled her seatbelt, he following suit as well, and climbed out of the car slowly as she walked over to the trunk. Jackie stayed at his post beside the passenger's side door and continued fiddling with his nails, his feet occasionally shuffling over the snow-covered driveway. Slowly, he allowed himself to think and let his guard down as he leaned against the cold, metallic door.

Upon hearing a loud scream, though, Jack was snapped from his thoughts violently and abruptly. A loud, frightened squeak left his mouth as the sound echoed around him. Yelling and screaming freaked Jack out like no other, people simply projecting their voice scared him. A tense emotion coiled itself around his throat as his eyes flickered back and forth, his body standing up completely straight and his nails feverishly picking at each other. His middle right finger grazed against his thumb and sliced it a tad, but he didn't even notice it. It wasn't like it mattered; he had seen, and felt, worse.

"Ma! Is that you?" another person screamed, causing Jackie to whine gently. Were they trying to kill him? Jack scoffed softly, which escaped along with a whimper. A better question was: who _wasn't_ trying to kill him? "You home? Or is it just you, Jeremiah? You know Ma' doesn't like you takin' that old piece'a shit that she leaves in the back garage! If that's you, I'm'a kick your ass!" Next Jack heard a door open (a screen door, judging by the general sound) and footsteps coming from the front of the house to the back garage.

Evelyn noticed Jack jump and sighed softly, tossing his bag over her shoulder after she slammed the trunk door down. At that particular sound Jack jumped as well, his eyes wide and his body pin straight. Evelyn sighed once more and lightly shook her head, blond curls bouncing. She walked to the boy's side and placed her hand on his shoulder. Jack nervously looked up at her, visibly trembling beside her, his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes filled with paranoia. "That's just Bobby, Jackie. He's a little rambunctious and, well...loud. I guess we're going against all odds and meeting him first today, eh?"

Then, almost on cue, a large, older teen came jogging out of the house. He was dressed in a large, fluffy, black winter jacket (unzipped and on top of a dark gray, long sleeve thermal shirt), a pair of loose-fitting acid-washed jeans hanging from his hips and a pair of mustard yellow Timberland work boots on his feet. He was well dressed compared to Jack, whom was simply clad in a pair of dark blue, _really _loose jeans, a white t-shirt, worn-out black trainers and a thin, dark gray hoodie. Jack felt another coil of tension lace itself around his throat as the boy before him, Bobby, approached. He walked like he was the oldest and had…an alpha-dog air about him. In fact, his body _screamed_, "Top Dog" to Jack. (Not to mention, "Thug".)

"Bobby," she said, smiling to the boy now before herself and Jack, "this is Jackie. Jackie, this is Bobby."

"Hey," Bobby replied, out of breath. "You'll like it here. Ma' really takes care of us." He smiled widely as Evelyn shushed him playfully.

Jack just nodded softly, biting at his lip as his eyes found the floor. Bobby made him…he couldn't place it. He had a hell of a smile, had a bad-boy appearance and was much taller than him, so intimidating fit the quota, but still. Jack listened as the air fell silent for a moment and continued gazing at the floor.

"Well…let's go introduce you Angel and Jerry, okay Jackie?" Evelyn proposed. Jackie nodded (as if he had a choice) and followed Evelyn slowly, whom seemed to be four or five paces in front of Jack—and Bobby. He lifted his head softly to inspect his surroundings and had his breath hitch in his throat upon seeing Bobby right beside him. Shouldn't he have been before him, with Evelyn...? Instantly, Jack looked back down, his nerves swimming in his eyes and his paranoia tinting his cheeks pink.

"Ma' takes good care of us. You'll like it here, trust me, little brother," Bobby insisted, placing a hand softly on Jack's right shoulder. He jumped—which made Bobby laugh softly, which he tried to hide and succeeded at least a little—and took a deep breath.

Trust…what a problematic thing that was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **This chapter is probably going to be a tad rough. ): It'll get better, it will! I just had a lot of conflicting ideas for this chapter, haha. Thanks to everyone who's read, especially to those who've made reviews.

- - - - -

By the time that they had reached the front door of the Mercer home, Bobby had pocketed his hands and so had Jack. Evelyn had already progressed inside the house and was well up the stairs before Jack had even taken two steps into the building. His eyes followed the older woman as he wondered where she was going. Was he to follow her? To stay down here with Bobby? Or was he to stand in the doorway like an idiot, biting his lower lip, staring at the floor and snagging his nails on his jacket's pockets?

"Jeremiah! Angel! Get downstairs! Time to meet Jack!" Bobby's voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs to the top landing, and down the hall. The youth beside him had not expected that, so as soon as the words left Bobby's pale pink lips, he cringed and backed up. He backed up so far that he hit the doorframe behind him, which _also_ spooked him. His eyes flickered back and forth in rapid succession and his breathing began to quicken. He couldn't handle all of this screaming, especially when it was at times that he didn't expect. He would get a heart attack, he swore it. "Shit—I'm sorry, Jackie," Bobby mumbled gently upon noticing that he had scared his new little brother. "Didn't mean to…"

Jack just stayed against the doorframe until Evelyn emerged from a room on the top floor. She softly called for Jerry and Angel before heading down, a smile on her face the whole time. "You'll be sleeping upstairs, second room on the left," she informed him before braiding her fingers together. "Are you hungry, Jack? Do you want to lay down and rest? Shower?"

"I…" he began, losing his train of thought to his nerves for the moment. Heat returned to the tips of his cheeks again whilst he shuffled his feet, trying to muster up the nerve to continue speaking. Evelyn seemed to want him to talk, so…he had to, he guessed? If he didn't she would hit him, probably. He shuddered lightly at the thought.

"Yes…?" Evelyn purred softly. She continued to give Jack that gentle smile of hers, using it to coax an answer out of him.

"C-Can I…I lay down…?" he questioned. In between the time that Jack had lost his train of thought and had it return to him, Bobby had moved himself against the left staircase banister, his arms and legs loosely crossed. His eyes were on Jack, taking in his features while he talked. Jack suddenly felt self-conscious and even more paranoid than before because of this—or at least he did until his eyes locked on Bobby's. After they had connected, he couldn't focus them anywhere else. They were so…dark, but at the same time, warm…

Bobby noticed that Jack's blue-gray eyes were shaky-like, always on the go; they were almost as paranoid and shifty as the boy, himself. He noticed that the spark that most young teenagers had in their eyes wasn't in Jack's. Or, if it was, it wasn't very bright. Was it out, or just hidden behind a torturous past?

Bobby's calm, suave smile died a little bit upon that realization.

In reaction to the intense connection between Bobby and himself, Jack felt his knees quiver ever-so lightly and an awkward sensation rise in his stomach. His knees usually quivered, but the stomach thing—it wasn't normal. He had never felt this awkward sensation before. Was it fear? It didn't _feel _like fear...

"Of course you can lay down," Evelyn confirmed. "Bobby can take you upstairs and show you to your room—and then when you wake up, either later tonight or tomorrow, he can give you a grand tour of the house. If that's okay with both of you."

"Yeah, Ma', it's fine," Bobby answered.

"O-Okay," Jack said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Wait! No going anywhere just yet!" someone called. More random screaming? Great, just great. Jack fidgeted and broke eye contact with Bobby to focus on the top stair, where a tall, lanky, black teenage boy stood.

"Jerry, Jackie is a little tired. If you would've gotten downstairs when I called you…" Evelyn mumbled.

"Angel wouldn't let go of the bathroom knob. He locked me in," Jeremiah huffed. As soon as the words left his mouth, another black boy appeared. This one hit Jeremiah upside the head. Jack flinched again, cowering a little.

"Knock it off, Angel. Don't start here," Bobby said, his voice stern and serious. He watched as Jack raised his head a little and searched his face before giving the youth another smile. Jack flushed again and eyed the floor; Bobby's smile turned into a smirk and he shook his head a little more. "Jackie, on the stairs is Jeremiah," Bobby said as he lifted his arm to point to Jeremiah; he, in turn, raised his hand. "And beside him is Angel." As Bobby pointed to Angel, Angel, like Jeremiah, raised his hand. "And we, all of us, are the Mercers."

_We…__we__ are nothing, Bobby. You guys are the Mercers. I'm just __here_, Jack thought, but he gave a small, pitiful smile. _You guys will get sick and tired of me by next month—if not earlier!—and send me back to that hell hole. I've been in this cycle before, so many times. You guys seem really nice now, but you're trying to win me over! I won't let you! Once you think you have, you just… _Jackie thought, then he sighed loudly. A soft, gentle frown placed itself on Jack's rather pale, chapped pink lips.

Bobby noticed the other's sigh and sighed, as well. But he didn't see the frown for a good moment. As soon as he did his own smirk died a little bit. This kid was a riddle of mystery, he really was. Bobby wanted to know what happened to him (on second thought, he probably _didn't_ want to know…), why it happened, how it happened—he also wanted to know how he could help Jack. Jack was now a Mercer. Bobby would take him under his wing.

_Probably not the safest thing ever, being under Bobby Mercer's wing, but it's better than nothing, right? I can help this kid out, _Bobby told himself.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack," Jeremiah added with a nod. Soon everyone, spare Jack, was nodding, a smile on each of their faces. They all looked so different…it made no sense in Jack's mind as to how they could all be a family, or "the Mercers".

"Do you have a preference on dinner, Jack?" Evelyn questioned after a lapse of silence. The question, being directed at him, caught him a little off-guard, and his slightly opened mouth probably showcased that all too well. "Beef, pork, chicken, seafood…?" Evelyn pitched, seeing as Jack seemed as confused as can be as to what he wanted for dinner. Jack didn't really have a preference; food was food. It all went to the same place and it all came out the same way. The only thing about food that concerned him was whether or not he _got_ to eat.

_Please don't be teasing, please don't be teasing… _Jackie thought.

"I…" he stumbled. He let his fingers move around in his jacket pocket while he tried to think. Subconsciously, he was rubbing his stomach through the jacket material.

_Anything would be good right now, but they might be teasing me…_

After a few seconds of thinking and getting nothing, Jack sighed in defeat and shrugged his shoulders. "I…don't know…" That was probably the smartest answer for Jack to give, just in case Evelyn turned out to be like all of the foster parents that he had been with in the past. None of the many homes that he had seen were really nice. The parents were either really, really neglecting and just left the young boy all alone, or they were really cruel and used Jack's wishes against him.

"I'll figure out something," she assured him before giving Jack a nod. "Bobby, you're going show him to his room now?" Bobby nodded again. "Okay, then. Jerry, Angel—do you mind cleaning the kitchen up for me, so I can start dinner?" While Angel and Jeremiah walked down the stairs towards the kitchen, Bobby began up the stairs.

When he reached the third stair he turned around and nudged his head towards the upstairs, symbolizing for Jack to follow. The youth nodded hesitantly and moved from his spot against the doorframe. He gripped the staircase railing and pulled himself up the stairs behind Bobby. The stairs were narrow, causing Jack to almost trip several times, but he made it to the landing eventually. "Okay, the first room on the left is a supply closet, full of towels and stuff—shampoos and other shit—and then second is yours. And the room directly beside yours is mine, and this one is the bathroom…"

Jack eventually stopped paying attention to what Bobby was saying. He walked into his room slowly while Bobby was still naming the rooms around them, actually. His eyes wandered from a dresser against the wall nearest to him, to a large bed, with a large headboard that doubled as a cabinet, sitting against another wall (the wall separating Bobby and Jack's), to a TV sitting on a small, quaint stand in the corner of the room opposite the bed, to a desk near a window, to the actual window and its pane, which was letting in massive amounts of sunlight.

It felt so…warm in here. Not temperature wise, because Jack happened to be almost freezing, but just…a warm emotion floating around him. It wasn't for him, though. This room was too warm for him. Where was the hatred? Where was the cruel devious intentions that usually lingered within everyone's heart? They were always there, always. Though the Mercer family seemed so…so nice, so trustworthy, they could snap at any given time.

Jack wouldn't hold it against them, though. Everyone did it.

"I hope ya' like the way I remodeled everything. Ma' didn't give me much to go on other than 'thirteen-year-old boy'," Bobby said quietly, shutting the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, Jack jumped a little bit, but surprised himself to know it wasn't a major jump, like usual. "Sh, I won't hurt you. I just wanna talk to my new little brother s'all." Bobby sat down on the corner of the bed and braided his warn, calloused fingers before setting them in his lap. "The dresser has clothes in it, just so you know. Ma' called the agency a few days ago and got your measurements so she could buy some for you."

_They bought me new clothes…? _Jack thought. _Nah, it's probably hand-me-downs. Bobby…he's just trying to make me feel comfortable. _

Without noticing it, when he thought of Bobby's name his cheeks flushed softly.

"Is it up to par, lil' brother?" Bobby asked eagerly. Jack could hear a sense of pride in the other's voice and a sense of need, as well. Pride, I guess, in his work and the need to know that what he had done was suitable.

Jack nodded several times before walking over to the window, tracing his hand along the clean white windowsill. The snow on the ground was the same shade, if not whiter. "It's…gr…great…"

Bobby smiled softly and then laughed at his accomplishment. He stood up, clapped his hands together, and nodded his head a few times. "Well…if you need anything, my room's right next to yours, and everyone'll be downstairs. Don't be afraid to give me a yell," Bobby told him. "Or…just call me. I'll answer, promise."

_A promise…? Been forever since I heard one of those. I wonder if he'll go through with it...probably not, _Jackie thought.

_I promised? It's been forever since I did one of those. Maybe I'm goin' soft_, Bobby contemplated.

"Okay?" Bobby asked.

"Okay…" Jack responded.

"I'll come up and get you for dinner. Have a nice nap, Jackie." And with that, the much older boy walked over to the door, opened it, gave Jack a nod of assurance and then made his way out. When the door clicked shut once more Jack turned around and allowed his focus to fall on anything. With his eyes on the bed, Jack walked from his post near the window and gingerly sat down. His movements were cautious because, hell, he didn't know if something was wrong with the bed. He had known some sweet acting old ladies who, when they got home, were the sickest, cruelest people ever. What if Evelyn was like that? What if she made the bed out of nails?

Jackie shudder a little and laid down on the bed as slowly and carefully as he could. His body feeling like bags of sand did not help his efforts; he practically _fell_ onto the bed. He pulled his knees to his chest as soon as his head was placed on one of the pillows and wiggled into the mattress. It was comfortable, oh it was comfortable.

_Please, anyone, don't let this house be like the rest…but, whatever you do, don't get your hopes up, Jack. Not again_.

Without even really noticing it, tears welled in his eyes and slowly began trickling down his cheeks. He only noticed that he was crying when he shifted his head and his ear landed on a wet patch.


	3. Chapter 3

After leaving the room, Bobby sighed loudly. The sigh lasted all the way from the doorway of Jack's room and into Bobby's own. Talking to that kid was just…it was kind of like talking to a foreigner who couldn't speak much English. It was frustrating and a little disheartening, the way that Jack wouldn't respond much (not that Bobby could blame him…), but Bobby had to maintain that calm, collected expression that he had been wearing, and a gentle, yet not overly soft, voice. The last thing he wanted to do was scare Jack because, in a way, he _was_ a foreigner. He had never been in a positive family relationship, always the negative ones in which he ends up beaten and crying—or worse.

So scaring him just wasn't…it wouldn't be morally acceptable for Bobby to get angry with him. It wasn't his fault. Jack's upbringing wasn't his fault—_and neither was Bobby's._ Softly, Bobby growled at the thought of his own upbringing.

Normally, Bobby wouldn't give two shits about scaring a thirteen-year-old boy—because boys need to learn to be men at _some _point in time, _just like he had been told _(well, not like he had been told…)—but Jack was not only extremely troubled, but he was now a Mercer. Bobby would defend Jack, yes he would. Bobby used to have Jerry's back completely (he still had it now, but not to the former degree…), but Jerry got older, gained weight and grew taller. He really didn't need Bobby watching over him and looming with his bad reputation anymore; and when Angel came, all of Jerry's attention (or most of it) was focused on him, basically sealing Bobby out of his former role for evermore.

Jerry didn't need anyone to guard his back, especially not his hot-headed older brother, _the Michigan Mauler_. He could fend for himself and then for other people. Getting over being denied like that was hard on Bobby's ego. For months after Angel came, Bobby ignored the other boy and shot dirty looks at Jerry routinely. Evelyn finally sat him down with Jerry and they talked about it. To this day Bobby still was a little hurt by being replaced, but not as much as before.

But now, Jack was in the house with them. Jerry was still tending to Angel like a mother hen to its chick, so Jack was free game for Bobby to swoop down and take hold of. Jack was now Bobby's prey—but in the most innocent way, ever!

Bobby chuckled to himself as he continued to think. _Wow, you're a penny or two short of insane, Bobby. Thinking of your little brother like that. You need to get back on the ice; you have too much time to think._

Either way, it was really refreshing to have a new face in the house. Especially one that Bobby could tend and devote his time to. Despite his tough-guy exterior, his reputation and his casual Detroit, Michigan accent, Bobby was a softie and felt lonely rather easily. For example, when Jerry told him that he didn't need his protection and "guidance" anymore, Bobby became nothing short of a recluse and spent a lot of time in his room, a lot of time walking around almost aimlessly or driving around with no true destination. Not that he showed that side often! Boy, did Bobby hide that as much as he could.

Regardless, Bobby helped anyone out as much as he could if they asked. That was a very manly trait, having people's backs. It also earned trust.

Jack would need a lot of help, Bobby realized that; more so than he was used to dishing out. Usually he was only asked by people who were being harassed by stupid bullies, or just needed help with a casual errand—but, never the less, whether the problem was big or small, he was up to the challenge. He'd step up to the plate and do what was asked of him.

And though Jack hadn't asked, Bobby was ready to be the father, confiner and friend that Jack never had.

With a sense of pride and purpose thumping away from within his chest, making his heart beat wildly as if it were a drum, Bobby closed his bedroom door and strolled over to his bed, which was positioned against the wall. It rested against the wall that Jack's was, actually. Bobby moved Jack's bed there intentionally when he had finished remodeling the room, just so Bobby would be the first to know if anything wrong happened within the other's four walls. Seeing as he would be the main caretaker of Jack (next to Evelyn, that was…), Bobby thought that was the best thing to do.

Plus, the teen had a bit of a nosy side.

Bobby situated himself on his bed after slipping off his shoes. He braided his hands before putting them behind his head and then took a deep breath. Almost holding his breath, Bobby listened as everything around him got quiet and calm, and generally fell still.

All Bobby Mercer could hear was his own breathing for a minute or two, but then he heard something he wasn't used to hearing. Crying—someone was crying. It was gentle, but he could hear the pain course through the muffled sounds, hear the hampered breathing. Without even having to think, Bobby knew it was Jack.

His heart fell a little, just laying there, listening to his new brother cry. Was he scared? Was he just generally upset? Or was his mind stuck in a forest of perpetual horror, unable to find an exit—thus making him think the worst of everything? Bobby didn't put either question behind him; it was probably a mixture of all three.

_You're gotten really soft, Bobby, _he told himself before sitting up. He propped his body up with his left arm and thought about knocking against the thin barrier. He wanted to get Jack to stop crying, to help the poor kid, but…he knew very little about this boy. He didn't know what made him mad, or sad, or happy; he didn't even know the kid's birthday for crying out loud, nor what he had been through prior to coming here. Evelyn had just said, "_He had a really bad, difficult childhood, Bobby…_" and left it at that.

So, he was completely in the dark.

Bobby lifted right hand and continued to ponder over whether or not knocking would be a good thing or not. After a minute more, Bobby sighed loudly and gently rapped his knuckles a few times against the wall before him. Jack gradually stopped crying.

_Probably scared the living shit outta the poor kid…_Bobby told himself, and huffed softly before rapping his knuckles against the divider once again. He heard a soft squeak (most likely from Jack's mouth) and then a cry of distress from the mattress before all was quiet again.

_Scared the little kid, I'm sure of it. Prob. sitting on the furthest edge of the bed, staring at the wall with his blue eyes all wide…_

Suddenly, as if out of no where, a faint, gentle sound was beaten along the wall facing Bobby. He stared at it a little bit and then swallowed hard, knocking his knuckles back in a soft, pretty rhythm. He wondered if Jack would get the song that he was playing—Rock-a-Bye Baby. A soft snort was emitted from Bobby's nostrils after he thought about what he was doing. How stupid and childish did he look? Fiending against the wall, hitting it occasionally in succession to get Jack's attention. To the beat of a child's song, no less!

After a few seconds of flat, silent air, he heard a soft laugh. It sounded almost confused to him when he analyzed it in his head.

_Little Jackie's probably confused, thinking, "Why the fuck is this big fucker beating nursery rhymes against the wall at me?" Good question, though, Jackie. I don't even fucking know. Go figure! Bobby Mercer has lost his ever-loving mind! _Bobby smirked at himself and at the laugh before laying back down. He kept his right hand near the wall in case Jack started crying again, or in case he knocked back.

Jack didn't knock back, which was a little disheartening for Bobby. Did no one want to play with him? Jeez.

But then again, Jack didn't start crying again, either. That achievement made Bobby smile like no other.

_Still got it, Bobby. Still got it._

- - - - -

"Bobby! Bobby, are you asleep?"

Snapped ruthlessly from his thoughts by his mother's voice, Bobby grumbled, mindlessly rubbed his neck, and climbed off of his bed. No, he hadn't fallen asleep, but he was thinking so hard that he might as well've been. He hadn't moved in about an hour and a half, maybe two! His legs were slightly asleep, so upon standing up he was greeted with a course of what felt like lightning surge up his extremities and flirt his senses. He grumbled again, smoothed down his hair, and opened his door.

"Sh, Ma'," Bobby uttered, slowly walking (and slightly wabbling) from his doorway and down the stairs, not bothering to close his door. "Jackie's asleep. I wasn't, on the other hand. Unless you wanna get technical, that is." At the bottom of the stairs stood Evelyn, her arms crossed but a smile on her face. A beam of sunlight from a window in the far distance illuminated her backside and peaked through her hair, causing her being to glow. They both laughed at each other softly—each oblivious to why the other had laughed—and then rightfully rose an accusing brow at one another.

"Why're you smilin'?" Bobby asked casually, stepping off the final step.

"I was just thinking about what Jack has in store. Operation Bobby Mercer Waiting On Him Hand and Foot is now commenced," she teased softly. She giggled as Bobby rolled his eyes and then sighed contently. "Why're _you_ smiling?"

"You look like a fucking Saint. The sun's glowing through your already sunny hair," he countered. Softly, Evelyn slapped his shoulder and warned him about his language around her—and Jack. "I know, Ma'. I know."

"I have a feeling Jack's going to be the new Jerry," she pondered aloud.

"One difference though."

"What's that?"

"Jack's a cracker."

Evelyn scolded him but smiled none the less. When she was finished, Evelyn led Bobby into the kitchen, a smile stained on both of their light faces. "Dinner's almost finished. Do you want to wake up Jack—or should I send Angel?"

Bobby twisted his face a little, jokingly of course, upon her suggestion of sending Angel instead of himself. He made a _psh_ sound before lightheartedly lifting his right hand and bending it at the wrist before her, letting his hand stay limply bent before the both of them. "Angel? He ain't no angel," Bobby toyed. Evelyn laughed softly. "I'll get him. You okay with setting the table by yourself, Ma'?"

"Yeah. Angel and Jerry cleaned the kitchen, you're tending to Jack—I'm alright with having made dinner and setting the table. Now run along. Don't rush him, though. If he doesn't want food, he doesn't want food," she replied. Bobby nodded as he turned around (while Evelyn was still talking) and continued until he reached the entrance to the kitchen, when Evelyn stopped talking. He made an "okay" gesture before walking briskly to the stairs and jogging up them rapidly.

Would Jack want dinner? Honestly, Bobby didn't know any teenage boy that _didn't _want food. He, himself, at like a motherfucker at that age. But, still—Bobby wasn't "brought up" like Jack, though they both had major hardships. He would go easy on the kid, just like he had with Jerry.

With Jack's bedroom door in front of his face in all of its tall, wooden glory, Bobby lifted his right hand again and knocked against the border. What with all of this beating of Bobby's knuckles against hard objects such as walls and doors, they would be bruised until next month—December. That was fine, though. It was early November (though it didn't _feel_ like early November, what with the snow on the ground…), and he hadn't had a bruise on his hand since—well, October. Halloween to be exact. Some kid got smart with him while Bobby was being _forced_ to give out candy with Evelyn. Evelyn had left him alone to get more candy and he hit the kid so hard that _his_ own knuckle had bruised.

But that was another story. That was then, and this was now.

And, now, there was silence. Bobby made to knock again when he heard the bed grumbling in distress. He probably just woke up Jack, no biggie. Shoulders leaned back a little and face cool and calm, Bobby waited for the door before him to be opened. A few seconds later it was and opposite him stood little Jackie, his cheeks slightly red, his blue eyes a little bloodshot and his cute mop of blond hair a tad disheveled. Bobby could feel his own brown eyes soften a little upon the sight.

As Bobby took in Jack's appearance and the other took in Bobby's, they remained silent—which totally wasn't what Bobby came up here to do. He wasn't going to make "googly" and _awe! _eyes at Jack, no matter how adorable the underweight, lanky teenager looked. So, Bobby cleaned his throat and sat up straight. "Time for dinner, Jackie," he said softly.

Jack continued to look back at him, mute, but now he had a confused look on his face.

"You're hungry, right? Ma' made…something…I dunno what it is, but it smells delicious and she worked hard on it," Bobby added proudly.

Sheepishly, Jack rubbed at his elbow for a second prior to scratching it. The sound of his nails coming down the dry skin made Bobby a little…he didn't know; disgusted was too harsh. Creeped out? That worked a little. "I…" Jack mumbled. Jack, honestly, didn't know whether or not Bobby was playing with him. He _could_ smell food. Just…he didn't know if _he_ could eat it. Some people did that; they fed everyone else _but_ him, usually making him watch and scowling at him (though laughing at him on the inside), as if he were an abomination.

In a way, he felt like he was one. That must have been why he wasn't wanted, right? It was because he had some…some defect, right? That's why he was always sent back! That's why he wasn't allowed to eat! That's why people beat him…_touched_ him! **That was the answer**.

And it was tearing Jack up inside. As soon as that thought sank into his mind, his eyes fell and his chest felt tight. Jack hoped Bobby didn't notice—what if Bobby made fun of him…?

Bobby noticed, though. He saw the way Jack hung his head and, a few seconds beforehand, saw the other's eyes surge with sadness. He sighed and nodded his head. At what, he didn't know; but he did it. "Do you want me to bring you up something?" he questioned.

Jack lifted his head a little, eyes shifting from each of Bobby's abnormally soft eyes.

So dark…so _soft_…

He looked through them for a few moments and then nodded. "N-Not mu-much," he stammered. "I'm not…hungry…"

Bobby nodded again, though he knew the other was. He leaned forward and lifted Jack's chin (which caused the other to whine and fidget from his post) and gave a smile. "I'll be back in about five minutes. If you want to wash your face, make sure those tears are untraceable, and come downstairs and eat with us, that'd be fine." And with that, Bobby Mercer turned on his heel and left young Jack Mercer on the landing, staring down at him, touching at his chin with wide eyes and an incredibly hot face.

Jack sighed, began into his room—and then ran out, scampering to the bathroom.

There was just _something_ about Bobby that made him somewhat comfortable. When Bobby was knocking against the wall, Jack smiled like never before. He smiled so much that the sleep had been carried out of him. Jack hadn't slept; he merely stared at the churning ceiling fan overhead, thinking about the song that Bobby was rapping against the wall. Rock-a-Bye Baby, that's what he was sounding out. It had been forever since Jack had heard that song.

- - - - -

Jack started the sink, feeling freezing water dance over his fingertips, and eyed his flushed cheeks in the mirror.

"Don't get attached, don't get attached," he told himself, keeping his voice down just in case someone was spying on him. "He's like everyone else, he's going to turn on you, he's going to use you. Don't get attached. Don't trust him." But Jack wanted to trust him, he wanted to confine in the elder, he wanted the other to _be _there for him and fill all the blank spaces in his heart.

He wanted Bobby to help him—but he couldn't help the nagging feeling picking at his heartstrings, screaming, "_He's going to turn on you, just like the rest of 'em!_"

_Please, Bobby, don't mess this up. Please. Don't make me regret this, please. I don't think I can handle it._

Jack let the sink fill up with lukewarm (barely lukewarm) water and then cupped his hands in the little pool. The water was then lifted via his hands and lightly splashed on his face. Slowly the stinging heat in his cheeks began to decrease. A sigh left his nostrils and Jack looked back into the mirror.

In all honesty, if Bobby betrayed him, he didn't think he would survive.

He was going out on a really thin limb here, ready to break at any moment, with the threat of falling to his death on the sharp, sharp edges of the rocks known as lies and deceit.

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **Long chapter! (: I hope you guys enjoyed it. I really appreciate the R&Rs, guys. And the reads. Even those who don't comment, I really appreciate it.


	4. Chapter 4

"Is he comin'?" Jerry asked as Bobby began filling a plate, the elder male standing in his socks before the stove. Jerry assumed it was his, but it really was for Jack. Jerry must not have noticed how little Bobby was putting on the plate. Bobby "ate like a bulldozer" most of the time. Despite his fit physique, Bobby could eat like no one's business. Hockey kept him active, so Bobby figured he could indulge himself as long as he worked out with the team. Regardless of whether or not he worked out, though, Bobby generally stayed fit. His metabolism was fast and his body…just didn't pack on pounds like a normal person's body.

Not that he was complaining or anything.

"I dunno," Bobby sighed softly, scooping up a little bit of potatoes from a large pot on the stove. He plopped them down on the glass plate and sighed again. "I hope he does."

"What do you think he's been through?" Jerry continued, and lifted his drink up to his mouth. He took a long drink of his soda, swished the rest of the contents around within its glass confinement, and then sat down the cup. "He's worse than I remember any of us being."

"I honestly…can't answer that. He doesn't that spark in his eyes, y'know? Every teenager has a spark. I can't…I haven't seen his," Bobby huffed. The room fell silent for a moment or two, giving him a spare second to plop a few decent sized pieces of steamed broccoli onto the dish in his hands. The clinking of the large stirring spoon against the glass plates was clearly, and loudly, heard by not only Bobby, but by Jeremiah as well

It was then that he concluded that it was too quiet. "Where's Ma' and Angel?"

"She'n Angel ran to the store to get a bottle of wine. Celebratory, y'know…" Jerry rambled. "Really last minute, but she decided to run out and get it. She left a few minutes before you came downstairs."

"Ah," Bobby replied, as if he understood—which he really didn't. Celebratory? Of Jack's arrival? From the way that Jack looked at him, he seemed more frightened of this place than grateful. Bobby wanted to make him comfortable; he wanted to take him under his wing, show him the ropes; get him into hockey, get him to defend himself, get him to find his full potential. He wanted this boy to become more than a shell of what he once was (or could have been), and start anew.

Most of all, Bobby wanted to see those sad blue eyes twinkle with happiness. _That_ would make Bobby happy—and without a doubt, it would make everyone else in the Mercer family happy, as well.

"B…B…Bobby?"

"Ma'? That you? Back from the store so fast?" Bobby replied, turning around. But it wasn't Evelyn. Nor was it Angel. The soft voice was none other than Jack's. "Oh—Jack. You decided to come down?" Why had he expected it to be Evelyn? Evelyn didn't stutter like that.

_His voice is so soft, though…he sounds just like Ma'. Or, a little._

"Maybe…for a…little bit…" Jack spoke. Each word sounded slightly choked and rather calculated. Even the way he stood, poised in the entrance way to the kitchen, looked staged. It was like he was walking on glass, afraid of everything below him.

Bobby felt a pang of sadness pluck one of his heartstrings as he watched Jack just stand there. He was so…scared looking, so frail. His white t-shirt hung off of him a little, as did his pants; the boy still had his drab shoes on his feet, and his blond hair was still a little wild, but not like before. Bobby fought the urge to just put down the plate and rush to Jack's side, to scoop him up and hug him close, to assure him that he was okay. But Bobby was too manly and strong for that—Bobby figured if he really gave into that and hugged Jack, he might've snapped him in half by accident.

Not to mention, Jack was too skittish. If he saw a full-grown Bobby advancing on him, not knowing his intentions, God knows what would've happened.

So Bobby merely put the plate down on a free spot on the counter and walked to an empty chair. He pulled it out and softly patted the wooden seat of the chair, eyes on Jack the whole time, not noticing the pink tint of embarrassment and shyness that rose in the tops of Jack's cheeks. "Sit down—please. I'm almost done making your plate," Bobby explained.

While Jeremiah made an "ah" face at how pitiful Jack looked, and how gentle and kind Bobby was acting, not to mention civil, Jack made a slightly frightened, yet somewhat inquiring, face at Bobby. It was like he was trying to read Bobby's thoughts. Evidentially he failed at that, though, because a few seconds later he sighed loudly and hung his head.

_What's going on in that kid's head?_ Bobby thought to himself as he patted the seat again. Jack lifted his head and maintained eye contact with Bobby for a few moments. Bobby felt like he was in a staring contest with someone who didn't have to blink often, because they lived most of their life with their eyes closed. It was saddening.

The urge to just _hold_ Jack grew stronger.

Reluctantly, Jack walked to the chair. Jerry and Bobby held their breath while the young boy moved and did as Bobby asked. He slumped into the chair almost lifelessly and crossed his arms mindlessly, letting them fall into his lap. Ever so lightly, Bobby brushed a hand against the top of Jack's head, earning a wide-eyed (but not exactly a frightened) look from the youth before him.

With an awkward silence clouding the air about them, choking everyone's throats, Bobby returned to the plate that he had been fixing. Evelyn had made chicken, potatoes, rolls and broccoli—a simple dinner, but it smelled, and looked, amazing. Just like always. That was the first thing that he noticed about Evelyn. The way she cooked—no matter how simple, how basic it was, it was _always_ amazing.

Awkwardly enough, her cooking was a major element in getting Bobby to calm down when he used to have nearly uncontrollable fits of rage. Evelyn always fixed what Bobby had broken and soothed the crying boy with a glass of warm milk mixed with vanilla. She told him that everything was okay time and time again and would rock him in her arms, despite the fact that Bobby was almost bigger than her.

Bobby was forever in debt to his mother for her kind heart and service.

Still thinking, Bobby added a leg of chicken and a soft, hot roll to the plate and grabbed a fork out of one of the nearby drawers. With the shaft of the metal utensil resting between his index finger and his thumb, he walked back to Jack. The blond looked up at Bobby, studied his eyes and then the plate, all the while almost sitting on his hands, like he couldn't touch the food. Bobby could see the hunger in Jack's eyes from his spot towering over him.

"If you take the place, it won't shock you. I swear," Bobby uttered softly. He didn't even notice that Jerry, who usually ate like a cow, had _completely_ stopped eating to watch the spectacle before him. "Nothing's going to jump out and grab you. No one's going to take it away, 'ight? And if they do, you just tell me, 'ight?" Bobby refrained from adding, "_If they do, I'll beat the shit outta them_", just because…well…Jack would probably have a heart attack and kill over, right in his very chair. But, the wink that Bobby gave Jack was basically that sentence composed into one simple, fluid motion. Whether or not Jack could read what Bobby intended by that wink was beyond him.

Jack didn't understand the wink, but he _did _understand that it caused a flourishing revival of Jack's flush. The heat returned and scattered all across his face, claiming each corner, thumping in its high temperature. "I…" Jack began, but he lowered his head in defeat as his words left him. Slowly and with calculated motion, Jack took the plate from Bobby's calloused fingers, his eyes on the table the whole time.

_He's going to take it back. He's going to laugh in my face. He's going to dump it in my lap. He's going to do __**something**_, Jack told himself. He mentally kicked himself for giving into Bobby's words so easily. _If anyone shows attention to you, you cave. Even if you __**know**__ they're going to hurt you. You're so fucking stupid, Jack; so fucking stupid._

_But...  
_Bobby didn't take the plate back.  
Bobby didn't drop it in his lap.  
Bobby didn't laugh at him.

Bobby just stood and smiled, watching Jack with his throat tight and constricted, as if _he _were walking on glass.

"There you go Jackie. Take a bite, c'mon. It's good," Bobby assured him. "Isn't it, Jer?"

"Yeah, it's great," Jerry chipped in cheerfully.

Jack looked back and forth between each of them with a look that read, "_There must be razors in here, or something…_" but picked up his fork in spite of his thoughts. As he lifted the metal prong to his mouth, he stared hard at the food sitting delicately on it, which he _desperately_ wanted. Then Jack closed his eyes, and right as the food was less than an inch from his awaiting mouth—the front door flung open and loud cries (though happy) filled the house.

"Ma'! Not my jacket, no! Not my jacket! You're going to get me wet and sick and it'll be all your fault. **Ma'**!"

Jack looked from Bobby to Jerry and back to Bobby frightfully before getting up from the table and dashing up the stairs, passed Angel and Evelyn. They stood at the doorway, Evelyn holding a paper bag to her chest and Angel dusting snow off of his shoulders, now with disappointed looks claiming their features.

Like in slow motion, the fork dropped on the floor and clanked repeatedly, each time getting louder and more painful to listen to, to Bobby.  
He couldn't help but glare from his position behind the table at his mother and Angel. He just couldn't help it.

So close…so _fuckin_g close. He knew they didn't mean to, he _knew _it, but he couldn't help but feel like Angel had robbed him of something else. This time around, it was Jack. Bobby's face showcased his inner turmoil perfectly with a stern frown. Quickly, after realizing that his face had contorted to his anger, Bobby attempted to swallow that resenting feeling.

"Jackie! I mean, Jack…uh, please come back?" Bobby called from the kitchen, trying to keep his voice low, but heard.

Evelyn and Angel entered the kitchen and both of them sighed loudly. "I'm sorry Bobby. I didn't mean to scare him…" Angel mumbled, a little clump of snow flying off of his left bicep and onto the floor.

"I guess we got a little carried away," Evelyn added, setting the bag with the wine in it on the table.

"Yeah…" Bobby sulked, and then crouched down and picked up Jack's fork, as well as the piece of cooked chicken that never made it into his mouth. He placed the fork in the sink and then chucked the piece of chicken into the trashcan, it making a slight _woosh _sound as it fell into the black trash bag. Bobby told himself that rather than wasting food because it had fallen on the floor, that his family needed to invest in a cat, or a puppy. But that was besides the point.

"You got through to him, I take it?" Evelyn said softly.

"_Got_ being the key word," Bobby snorted, not meaning to sound as upset as he did. Nor did he mean to glare at Angel for a second or two.

What's done was done, though.

"Look, I'm sorry Bobby!" Angel grunted, straining his voice a little. "I didn't think he was _that_ jumpy, damn. Are you going to be the volume police from now on or somethin'?"

"Don't start with me, Angel," Bobby said back, his voice calm, though his patience was definitely wearing thin on the inside. Turns out he didn't swallow the resentment that he was feeling as well as he thought. This shit always happened whenever Bobby thought about Angel replacing him.

"Lemme remind you that you're _really_ fucking loud most of the time, Bobby. Don't you forget that," Angel stated, ignoring Evelyn's glare at the use of the word "fuck". Then he walked to one of the cabinets a good few feet away from Bobby and got out a plate. Bobby crossed his arms and leaned against the stove, eyeing the floor; Angel fixed his eyes onto his empty plate and leaned against the cabinet that he was at—mainly because he couldn't get to the stove without possibly having a confrontation with Bobby.

"Angel, Bobby—c'mon, ya'll. There's a bigger picture here," Jeremiah butted in. Bobby and Angel continued to sulk, not looking away from the items that held their attention. "Bobby, try taking the food upstairs to him. He'd probably feel more comfortable eating up there."

"That's a good idea, Jeremiah," Evelyn praised.

Bobby gave a loud sigh before agreeing. He pushed himself off of the stove, grabbed another fork, and picked up the plate again. Before starting for the stairs, Bobby opened the fridge and grabbed a small bottle of water. He figured water would do the job—seeing as he didn't know what Jack liked (pop, orange juice, milk…).

Then he was on his way.


	5. Chapter 5

Still a bit startled, Jack laid down on his bed and stared at the blank, boring wall. He had walked—no, ran—out on Bobby, Jeremiah **and** on Angel and Evelyn. Something told him to expect punishment because of that. Running away from people showed disrespect or cowardice, or some shit like that. Both were excuses to beat the shit out of Jack, so whether or not they were the correct answer or completely and utterly false, he paid the consequences.

Despite the fact that it was in his best interest to leave the table—surrounded by people who _could_ hurt him, none the less—Jack was still hungry. Starving, actually. His stomach rumbled in hunger and he closed his eyes in attempt to block out the aching. So close—so very close to food. But not close enough. Being hit…it wasn't worth the food. Not now, anyway. Jack could hold out a little longer if he wanted to. If he really tried.

On the bright side, though, it wasn't Bobby that scared him.

Jack fidgeted on his bed, elongating his right leg as he rolled onto his back, and then pulling it back to elongate the left. Neither position was very comfortable. His stomach still hurt, craving food and attacking his very being until it was worn out, his mind was still very much controlled by paranoia, and now his body was restless as hell.

Just great.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

_Bobby?_

"Hey, Jack. Can I come in?"

Bobby. Jack sat up slowly, eyes on the doorknob. It seemed to quiver a little, as if it were scared. Bobby wasn't touching it, was he? He didn't _hear_ it moving, but he could _see_ it move.

_Fucking paranoia…_Jack scolded. _What does he want? Oh shit. I'm going to get punished. I'm going to get punished._

"Jackie?" Bobby said again.

_Don't let him in, don't let him in. Fuck—you have to let him in! He'll hurt you more. …No, don't let him in. Wait! Let him in! _

Jack whined softly, not knowing what to do.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

The miniature battle continued to surge on inside of his head until Bobby knocked against the door again. Was it just Jack feeding the fire that was his paranoia, or did the knock sound…_angry_?

"Uh…c-come in?" Jack finally called back, keeping his voice very low. Did Bobby even hear him? If he didn't hear him and grew testy, would he hit Jack? Correction: would he hit him _even more_? Jack fidgeted yet again. But then Bobby opened the door, the plate with food on it in his hand and a smile on his face.

Preventing his jaw from dropping at the sight was not possible for Jack.

"You're still hungry, right?" Bobby questioned. Jack was about to deny that accusation when his stomach roared loudly. Embarrassment rose in the form of a flush as Bobby withheld a laugh—failing, a lot. "I take that as a 'yes'." So he moved forward, Jack using all of his strength to keep _himself_ from moving away in turn. In a few seconds time, Bobby was standing right above Jack. Jack's eyes staring up at him, Bobby's eyes staring down. He held out the plate and gradually Jack took it from him.

With his hands now only holding just the bottle of water, Bobby sat down on the edge of Jack's bed. Patiently he awaited Jack to scoop up food and eat the first bite. "If you like it, I'll give my compliments to the chef," Bobby joked.

A faint smile appeared on Jack's face. After it had died, Jack stabbed a small piece of broccoli and rose the fork up.

_Deep breaths…deep breaths…you can do this? What the fuck am I saying? No you can't! He's just going to deny you it! Or, he'll let you eat it and then expect…__**favors**__. No, no, no. He wouldn't…but…I don't know Bobby well enough…fuck. Well, I have this fork…I can use it in self defense._

After thinking to himself, and staring at the fork, Jack closed his eyes and placed the fork into his mouth. The green broccoli was warm against his tongue, causing pleasant sensations to ripple throughout his whole body. Before he knew what he was doing, he had removed the fork and scooped more food.

His stomach was in control now; it was leading the rest of his body, compelling it to do its bidding. The food tasted good and he had been denied of good food for so long—why ever would his body deny it?

It didn't seem to care that Bobby might change completely and beat him for eating the food.

Bobby watched with a victorious smirk as Jack shoveled food into his mouth. The blond before him moved his legs, eating all the while, into a position so that he could sit on them. Bobby took a moment to take in all of the boy's features—to really study his blond hair, his almost sickly, but clear, pale skin, his thin waist and his somewhat large hips, his warn hands...

And though he couldn't see them at the moment, Jack's blue eyes were his favorite. They reminded him of Evelyn's.

"Is it good?" Bobby asked quietly. Upon his question, the blond slowed down, swallowed hard and opened his eyes. He looked embarrassed and paranoid—_when didn't he?_—at Bobby's question, which caused the tips of Bobby's ears to flush a tad because, well, Jack was staring at him. A loud exhale sounded from Bobby's nostrils as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair. "Do you want your water? It'll help everything to stay down." He held out the bottle and slowly Jack took it.

"Thanks…" Jack whispered and sat the plate down beside his knees. He opened the water and took probably the longest drink that Bobby had ever seen anyone take, ever. Bobby was too preoccupied with the fact that Jack hadn't stuttered when he spoke to notice how Jack's ribs showed when he hungrily downed the liquid.

He took a deep breath after he had finished a good portion of the water before screwing the cap back on. He then continued his food, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Bobby was still watching him. Everyone watched him, which made him paranoid, because usually the people wanted…_stuff_. But Bobby didn't want stuff, no he didn't.

He just wanted Jack to be comfortable and for him to eat.

- - - - -

A few minutes had passed before Jack had virtually cleaned his plate to its former spotless look and his water bottle had a few small droughts left in it—max. Bobby remained on the corner of Jack's bed, watching him with mild interest until the boy completely stopped his movements. All he did was breathe, his chest going up and down in rapid patterns that were rather irregular, and look around. Bobby didn't mind the latter; occasionally the teen would lock eyes with him and he would be able to peer into those blue orbs, if only for a few seconds.

"Done?" Bobby questioned softly, fingers braided in his lap.

Jack nodded, still breathing heavily.

Bobby held out his hand for the plate; Jack looked at it as if he would never see it again. The longing in his eyes broke Bobby's heart a tad bit.

_Softie, _his mind teased.

Jack didn't want to give him the plate. Jack wanted to keep it. After years and years of being moved around and having everything stripped of him time and time again, Jack had grown…attachmented to inanimate items. Rather easily, too.  
He would keep them, store them away, and hide them just so he could use them later—and so he would have something, so he'd never be alone. Technically what Jack did was stealing, but he…well…it was comforting, having things. Even if they didn't talk (back) to him, he could talk to them and they would listen. He wouldn't feel alone with them.

"I need to get that washed," Bobby coaxed softly.

"But…" Jack whispered.

"I can give it back later, if you want," Bobby proposed. Jack looked up at him, eyes somewhat wide, mouth somewhat agape.

"I'd…like to…keep it…?" he said, almost too gently for Bobby to hear it. But he caught what the other said last minute.

"I can write your name on it, if you want, and give it back to you later. Hm? That sound good? You'll be the only one using it after today." Bobby and Jack held eye contact for what felt like an eternity—but in reality it was merely a handful of seconds—until Jack nodded to Bobby. He took the plate from the blond's hand and stood up slowly. "I'll go get a sharpie from my room, write your name on the corner and then wash it. You can use it tomorrow, okay?" Jack nodded.

So, Bobby left, his heart feeling heavy.

- - - - -

Once Bobby had left, Jack downed the rest of his water quickly and got off his bed. He scampered to the dresser against one of the walls around him and opened it. Clothes, neatly folded and in multiple colors, looked back up at him while he tucked the empty bottle beneath them.

With a sigh, Jack returned to his bed and laid down, feeling _slightly_ full and his heart—well, his heart felt heavy.

_Bobby's…nice. Maybe…things will…go right here._

Jack sighed loudly once more and snuggled down into his bed.

_Don't mess this up, Jack. Don't mess this up._

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **I love those of you who have commented with all of my being. And those who don't comment…oh well. As long as you read, I guess I'm fine. (:

In the next chapter, I'll be skipping forward a distance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **I love all of you. (: A lot!

Now, to the time skipping. It'll be around…December 4th, I guess? Yeah. It _was _early/mid November, so I skipped forward a month. Nothing too major.

- - - - -

Jack watched from the couch as the snow fell from the sky and onto the cold floor outside. It was falling so hard and it wasn't even…late into the winter season. But, then again, it was snowing _last _month. Not that Jack was complaining about the constant snow and the constant low temperatures—he liked them more than scolding hot weather with sun beating on his skin from every corner of the world—it was just…he wasn't used to seeing it. Jack was always inside when it snowed, always locked away like a horrible secret. It was nice to see it, now. It was nice to take in its beauty.

The fact that Bobby gave him tons of blankets to bundle himself in and a mug of hot chocolate religiously was also a nice touch.

As opposed to Jack studying the snow like it was a once-in-a-life-time occurrence, Bobby was watching Jack. This was one of the few times that Bobby could recall, that Jack had came downstairs and stayed downstairs for longer than twenty minutes. The blond was hardly ever outside of his bedroom, but when he did come downstairs it was only to talk with Evelyn (if he couldn't get her to come upstairs), to leave with Evelyn (or Bobby) or to aid Bobby or Evelyn in a minor task. The only people that Jack genuinely associated with were Bobby and Evelyn, mainly because he and the other Mercers hadn't…_clicked_, per say.

Bobby wanted Jack to be comfortable with Jeremiah and Angel—comfortable, not chummy, for Jack was _his_—so he tried to get Jack into his conversations with Jeremiah and Angel as often as he could. It was merely an element of Jack being totally comfortable with the Mercer household rather than Jack being friendly with their brothers.

"Hey, Bobby!" someone called from the stairs. Bobby watched Jack's attention snap from the snow and to the stairs, where Jeremiah stood, before looking at the other, himself. Jeremiah, dressed in a few good layers of clothes, had a smile on his face and a hat on his head, not to mention gloves on his hands. Bobby's face, earlier blank and plain, contorted into a smile. He knew what Jeremiah wanted. "You wanna play—"

"Fuck yeah!" Bobby responded. He hadn't meant to sound so happy—but what could he say? The thought of playing hockey obviously made him happy. Bobby looked at Jack, who had jumped again, and frowned softly. "Sorry, Jackie-O," he added. Jack nodded lightly. 

"Angel! Bobby said he wanted to go too!" Jeremiah called behind him.

On cue, Angel exited one of the rooms on the landing and laughed. "Did I ever say he didn't want to? It's Bobby Mercer, for Christ's sake!"

"And don't you forget that," Bobby chimed. He watched with minimum interest as Angel and Jeremiah climbed down the stairs, each holding a large, slim stick of wood in their hands. "Who we playin'?"

"Couple of kids from down the street, their older brothers…" Angel answered. "Don't know most of 'em, but they wanna play so I don't really care. I just wanna play."

"Don't we all?" Jeremiah added with a grin.

Bobby began to stand, mumbling things under his breath about how any opponent seemed good to him at the moment and how kicking random little kids' asses at sports made him hard, before he noticed that Jack had a look of…longing in his eyes.

_Shit. We're leaving him out, _Bobby thought.

"Hey, Jack," Bobby said, causing the other to look at him directly in the eyes—him flushing a little bit, too. "You wanna play with us?"

"I…can't skate…" Jack answered softly.

"We got like…an hour until everyone's there," Jeremiah butted in; both Jack and Bobby looked to him instantly. Good thing the spotlight didn't crush Jeremiah's nerves. "Bobby can give you a lesson in basics while we wait."

"I won't let you play today, just because I know how most people around here play, but in a good week or two you'll be able to play with the big dogs," Bobby declared proudly. "I should market my techniques under 'Bobby Mercer's Skills to Playing Hockey Like a Bad Ass' or something. Everyone could be as great as me."

"That's a problem, _Michigan Mauler_. If everyone played like you, we'd all die," Angel teased.

Bobby shot him a glance, automatically shutting Angel up. He didn't want Jack to be afraid of Bobby teaching skills or his hockey skills. "So…how 'bout it?" Bobby asked, hunched over a little in a half-standing position.

Jack mused over it in his head for a few seconds before letting out a loud breath. He nodded his head softly and earned a smile from each of his brothers. "I'll go," Jack replied quietly.

"'Ight! You ladies hold on a moment so Jack and I can get ready." Bobby then began for the stairs, Jack following at his heels like a love-sick, easily impressionable puppy. That was what he was, though. Bobby's puppy—and Bobby loved his puppy, a lot. Even with him only being here for a month, Bobby's affection for Jack had only grown, and was still growing.

- - - - -

With each of the two males in their respectful rooms, the house was oddly quiet. Jeremiah and Angel had stepped outside, no doubt to play in the snow and then to wait in the car, so it was just Jack and Bobby now. Evelyn…where was Evelyn? Bobby didn't even have a clue, which was odd as he was the closest to her. But where his mother was, was a subject far away from the focus of his mind. He was focused on getting in the zone, he was focused on wearing the right clothes to maximize his playing potential, he was focused on what he would teach Jack once they got to the rink.

Without much thought, Bobby decided on wearing a simple pair of jeans, a thermal shirt, a beanie and a bulky jacket. Simple, but warm and easy to play in. As he turned to leave his room, skates and hockey stick in his right hand, he stumbled upon little Jackie in the doorway.

"Need somethin'?" Bobby questioned, a smile on his face.

"Do you…have a jacket I can borrow?" Jack replied. He seemed rather sheepish to ask him for clothing—because, prior to living with the Mercers, borrowing clothes never tided over well. His cautiousness just made Bobby smile.

"What kinda jacket ya' lookin' for?"

"Anything warm…"

Bobby set his hockey stick and his skates down on his bed. He then walked over to his closet, shifting through the hanging items quickly for a few seconds. Warm? Bobby had warm. Hell, that was all he had. After all, they _did _live in Detroit. After thinking for a few moments, Bobby removed a worn leather coat from his closet and strolled over to Jack. The jacket had been worn by Bobby so many times that his distinct smell—aftershave, Old Spice, cigarettes and just _Bobby_—had virtually covered up all of the smell of leather. It used to be his favorite jacket on the face of the planet, until he grew a few inches taller and couldn't fit it right anymore. So, for the last year or so, it had just hung in his closet, reminding him of all of the good times from the past.

"Thanks," Jack retorted, taking the jacket graciously as it was offered to him.

"Take care of it; it's my baby. Lots of good memories in that thing," Bobby reminisced, pausing to think of his days back in high school when he wore that jacket every day. He was _known _for that jacket. It really was his baby, even though he didn't wear it anymore.

Jack nodded several times before pulling the jacket on over his own long-sleeved t-shirt. The smells clinging to the leather material made him smile. Bobby had such a good smell. All of the blankets that he gave Jack smelt like him, either because he had used them or just because he had touched them. "I'll take care of it," Jack said, running the tips of his fingers over the front of the leather.

_So soft…_

"Y'know what?" Bobby spoke.

"What?"

"Leather's a good look for you. As long as you take care of it, you can keep it."

"Really?"

_His eyes are so fucking wide…_

"Yeah!"

The room fell quiet for and the two men shifted their weight to opposite legs. Then Bobby realized something—Jack didn't have skates, did he?

"Hey, I need to give you skates, don't I? Yeah, that'd be a good…" Bobby said, mainly to himself. He turned around again and approached the wooden doors of his closet. He opened the door again, crouched down, and blindly searched the darkness of the floor for a pair of his old skates. Not being one to let go of things from his pleasant times with Evelyn, Bobby had all of the skates that he had ever worn under her roof, every pair of pants that he had ever owned while with Evelyn, as well as every shirt and every piece of working jewelry…

"What size do you wear?" Bobby asked.

Jack shifted. "I can wear any size you give me." After all, Jack was used to living under harsh conditions—shoving his foot into something sizes too small wasn't exactly abnormal for those situations.

A dark brown eyebrow raised skeptically for a moment before a set of slightly pale hands decided on a set of size nine ice skates, as worn as his old leather jacket. "These'll do," Bobby mumbled. He returned to Jack, handed him the skates with a smile, and then walked to his bed to grab his own skates and his hockey stick. "All set?" Jack nodded. "'Ight. Let's go."

- - - - -

"Alright, Jackie. Put your skates on and meet me on the ice, 'ight?"

"Alright."

Bobby finished tying his skates before he stood up. He clapped his hands together, grinned mercilessly at the "random kids" he would be playing later, and made his way onto the ice all around him. The rink was where Bobby _loved _to be. Hockey was his passion and, boy, did Bobby love his passion. Bobby showed it in the way he played and the way he talked about playing.

The fact that he got a little…territorial when playing was just kind of the bow on the packaging.

Jack hobbled his way to Bobby after finishing his own skates. His face was a little bewildered but his smile and eyes gave off a feeling of excitement.

_Just like my first time, _Bobby thought dreamily. Although that memory wasn't all that pleasant, the ice changed his life and he was grateful for being introduced to it.

"Okay, so, have you ever skated before?" Bobby asked, playing both hands on either of Jack's shoulders to keep the other steady.

"A few times," Jack answered. Those times weren't very pleasant, though. He was, more or less, forced onto a set of skates and then dragged around by his foster brothers, laughed at the whole time. He shuddered softly at the memories.

Bobby nodded softly. "Here, give me your hands." Slowly, wobbling a little, Jack eased his hands into Bobby's, a little blush creeping up and onto his cheeks. "Just let me lead you, 'ight? No worries. I won't let you fall." Bobby began backing up, listening to the blades of his skates scraping against the ice beneath him.

_I'm going to fall, I'm going to fall. Please don't let me fall, Bobby, _Jack thought. He blinked snow off of his eyelashes repeatedly as he kept up with Bobby. All he could hear was the wind whipping around him, the blades of skates scratching against ice and Bobby's breathing, as well as his own.

Jack wondered to himself if his face showed just how scared he was. Every time he kind of leaned forward too much he breathed in sharply, eyes wide. Every time Bobby began turning he sucked in a large amount of air. Actually, almost every time Bobby _moved _Jack subconsciously squeezed the other's hand tighter and tighter from within his own grasp.

Did his face show just how scared he was, like his breathing and his hands did?

_He's scared shitless. Does he realize that he's fuckin' killin' my hand? Oh well, _Bobby thought. He continued to lead Jack along for a few more seconds before he removed his hands from the other's grip (after a slight struggle and a few worried whines from Jack). _Weanin' him a little fast, but…not a lot of time, so…_

"Bobby…" Jack huffed softly, skating forward after Bobby with much caution. He was most definitely frightened out of his wits, but as noted skating was just…thrilling. The sound of his skate blades scraping on the floor was actually calming and the wind whipping at the hair visible from beneath his beanie felt nice.

But you know what they say: to learn, you must make mistakes.

"Bobby, I'm gonna fall," Jack said, looking at the other as he bit his lower lip.

"No you're not, Jackie. You're doin' great," Bobby assured him.

"Bobby…I'm serious…" Jack whined.

"Sh, sh, sh. You're not gonna fall. If you say you're gonna fall, you're gonna fall. So stop sayin' it. You're doin' great."

Jack was right, though.  
Bobby was wrong.

Following a few more whines from Jack, Jack's feet gave way beneath him and he fell onto the ice.

Nothing was really hurt (other than his ass and the little bit of pride that he owned to his name) but Jack's face…he looked like something had been killed. His eyes shifted back and forth around while his cheeks proceeded to turn red with embarrassment.

Bobby snarled at the guys around him who happened to be laughing, until they stopped. When they had, Bobby crouched down in front of Jack and held out his hands. He frowned when he sat that Jack had let a few tears fall. "No need to cry, Jackie. It's completely fine. Everyone falls their first time. _I _fell my first time." At that knowledge, Jack smiled a little and dried his eyes. "C'mon, let's keep trying, okay?"

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **I ain't know **shit** about skating, so, haha. Don't take my minor lessons to heart, 'ight? I've skated before but I hated it and I haven't skated since. Haha.

I'll start writing the next chapter ASAP. -;


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long to update! Kinda lost my muse—but I reckon it's back now. (:  
Also, sorry for this chapter being rather short (compared to my others). It's mainly filler and its only purpose was to get my gears going again. -; Enjoy. Happy Valentine's Day!

- - - - -

Bobby ushered Jack off of the floor slowly but surely, making sure the other could keep his balance as he did so, and gave him a gentle, reassuring smile. Bobby's smiles were the best, Jack concluded while he wobbled up from the cold ground. For such a tough guy, with such a…_colorful_ reputation, Bobby had a damn-near award winning smile. His smile could melt ice caps according to Evelyn—it could also inspire shy, tortured souls like Jack to flush like no other. Bobby was never really sure why Jack blushed, but he had narrowed it down to a few possibilities:

-Ma' was right in saying that his smile could melt ice caps, and that his smile had melt the ice holding Jack's little heart hostage.  
-Jack was intimidated by Bobby and smiled just to please him, embarrassed at himself (for caving, Bobby guessed).  
-Jack had some "bad experiences" with people smiling at him, and thought of all of the bad things whenever Bobby smiled to him—hopefully _that _one wasn't the particular case.  
-Or, Jack just enjoyed the eldest Mercer's smile and sometimes looked into it too much. It was kind of like staring into the sun; if you stared into Bobby Mercer's smile for too long, your eyes would water.

A triumphed smirk tugged on Bobby's lips as he thought up all of the possible solutions to Jack's flush. He guessed that it was a positive blush, as the positive possibilities outweighed the negative ones and because, well, Jack was growing close to Bobby. Bobby, and Evelyn, were basically the only ones he responded to, which was empowering for Bobby in itself.

On top of that, he didn't seem overly intimidated by him. He seemed slightly wedged between uncomfortable and comfortable, but usually swayed more towards the comfortable side.

_Get a grip, Bobby. God damn. Gay, gay, gay._

"You wanna keep tryin', Jackie?" Bobby questioned, still holding onto Jack, but lightly now. By this time Jack had stopped wobbling and stood perfectly still under Bobby's firm hands.

Jack mulled it over for a moment, chewing on his lip during his little thinking break, and finally nodded his head to the older male before him. The reaction to Jack's nod was a grin and an enthusiastic mumble from Bobby—and then starting up again.

Bobby moved his hands down from Jack's shoulders and into the boy's hands, gently backing up on the ice while maintaining simple eye contact with his new little brother. He could see the frightened little boy inside of Jack shivering unknowingly, waiting to fall again, waiting to be broken. Bobby continued to smile in attempt to keep Jack from thinking that. It didn't really make Jack smile back, but it kept him from frowning.

_Better to think optimistically about shit like this_, Bobby figured.

Well, that was half of it. Smiling to keep Jack from frowning.  
It was really hard _not _to smile with Jack around, in all honesty. The blond brought so much light into Bobby's life, despite his dark past. Jack had given Bobby a sense of belonging, had returned something that Bobby had lost a long time ago—and now that Jack was in his life, Bobby reckoned he'd be smiling a whole lot.

"Ya' gettin' it?" Bobby asked softly as he skated backwards.

Though scared and unsure, Jack nodded his head warily before tightening his hold on Bobby's hands.

"Can I let go now?" Bobby continued on. Jack squeezed his hands at the mention of letting go and shook his head feverishly. "Okay, okay. No letting go, I understand. I won't let go—promise," Bobby teased. His hands were starting to turn sore again (no doubt red beneath his soft gloves), but in spite of the pain coursing through his extremities, he kept going for Jack.

At the word "promise", Jack looked at Bobby sharply and searched the other's face blankly. He couldn't read anything bad—and the smile on his face didn't seem to have any _other _intentions. After a moment of probably the most uncomfortable silence ever, a smile rose on Jack's face, along with a flush. He then nodded sheepishly, more to himself than anything.

_I hope he believes me._

_I believe him._

- - - - -

After the hockey game had ended (the Mercer brothers and a few close friends winning, but of course), the four boys headed home, tired and somewhat sweaty despite the wind whipping cold air all around them and the snow layering on top of itself on the cold ground. The short car ride home was virtually silent, spare the rumble of the car's engine, the occasional deep breath and the coughs that spilled from mouths periodically.

It wasn't that they didn't want to talk; it was more along the lines of just being worn out and not having anything really…_important_ to say.

Jack liked the silence, either way. It gave him time to think, time to reflect on the life that he had now. It was probably—no, it was _the _best life that he had ever known. Evelyn and her children didn't make him do _things _that he didn't want to do, and, as a plus, he had Bobby for company. Bobby was not only there for him when he needed the elder, but Bobby…Bobby was slowly becoming Jack's everything. Jack had never really grown an attachment to anyone before, so the clingy and needy feelings that he experienced when Bobby was around was a tad alarming. Everyone could see Jack's need for Bobby, from Evelyn to Angel, to Jeremiah to the social worker that stopped by last week, to Bobby himself. And, everyone could see Bobby's need for Jack. They filled the emptiness in the other and found comfort, a happy place.

"You fuc—guys hungry?" Bobby asked quietly, watching his language with Jack around. He had been doing that since Jack had arrived, making sure Jack was no where within earshot before letting a curse leave his lips (of course, he'd messed up a few times but no one, especially Bobby, is perfect), so randomly using his "favorite words" in excess might scare the youth. Particularly with him sitting in the back seat to his right, leaned against the window, bundled up in Bobby's old leather coat with his fingers mindlessly dancing along the clasps.

"_Starving_," Angel croaked. "I missed breakfast this morning, too."

"Well, you shouldn't have been out with _La Vida Loca_. That's what you get, numbskull," Bobby returned. Jeremiah laughed softly and Angel grumbled in protest. Jack…well, Jack did nothing but faintly smile to himself and the frost covering the side window. "Ma' makes breakfast, Ma' calls for you, and if you ain't in the kitchen by the third call you ain't getting' shit."

"For the last time, Bobby, I ain't seein' that girl," Angel huffed. "How many times need I tell you?"

"Until you're not lyin' to me, Pretty Boy."

"We all know you're seein' that girl, Angel. Give it up already—she done gave it up to you," Jeremiah teased. When Angel grumbled again, cursing beneath his breath, Jeremiah gave a triumphant smile and leaned back in his seat. Neither he nor Bobby were driving at the moment, which was a little weird considering that was the norm.

"You guys need to stop," Angel returned, and left it at that. He fought with his brothers constantly so they would understand that he wasn't seeing _La Vida Loca _when he left the house for hours at a time, alone. Everyone knew he was seeing her, though; especially when he came home smelling like her perfume—and her _coño loco de puertorriqueño_, which meant "crazy Puerto Rican pussy", as translated by a fuming Sofi.

How Bobby knew that phrase in Spanish shocked Angel more than the fact that Bobby _knew _he had been with her.

The answer was simple, though. Bobby knew a lot of pointless trivia, and a lot of pointless phrases and vocabulary.

Simple as that.

"Well, you guys're hungry, right?" Bobby asked; Angel and Jeremiah nodded softly. "What about you, Jackie? You hungry?" With a turn of his head, Bobby was looking at Jack, whom, seemingly, had frozen to his spot leaning against the window. His right hand's fingers, which had once been writing things unknown to Bobby on the glass, turned stiff and refused to move anymore; his left set of digits refrained from playing with the jacket's buttons; and his chest, which had been rising and falling in a gentle periodic motion, stopped moving as much. It was like he was scared, Bobby concluded; or maybe Jack had just been snapped from his mind and was scrambling to catch up with the rest of the conversation. "Jackie? You hungry?"

Slowly but surely Jack craned his neck to look at Bobby. The youth studied Bobby's eyes while Bobby studied his own. Bobby's brown eyes sent a wave of warmth crashing over Jack; Jack's cool slate blue eyes sent a chill up Bobby's spine and somehow radiated an odd feeling heat throughout the rest of his form. They held each other's gazes for a few moments before Jack clamped his jaw down softly. "A little," Jack replied.

_Why's he so nervous? _Bobby questioned as he offered a smile.

Jack smiled back a little and laid back against the window, his hands braided in his lap. He felt a tad uncomfortable talking in front of Jeremiah and Angel, that was all; that, and he _had _been snapped out of his thoughts quickly.

"'Ight. You two decide on a fast food joint real fast," Bobby directed.

Jeremiah and Angel discussed what they were hungry from the front of the car, and as they did so Bobby leaned over and tugged gently on the leather jacket covering Jack's torso. Quickly, Jack looked over to Bobby, somewhat startled for a reason unknown to himself, before giving a smile to the other.

"You did well today. You'll be skatin' better than Angel in no time. You wanna come out again tomorrow? Continue practicing while it's fresh?" Bobby proposed, the smile on his face encouraging Jack to just nod his head in compliance.

Jack flustered at the compliment and shifted through Bobby's eyes again. They were genuine, they were warm, the were promising—everything Jack needed in his life. With a bolder smile, Jack nodded his head. Bobby's grin made his heart leap into his throat, and when Bobby placed his hand on Jack's his heart further proceeded up his body. When it rested on his tongue, threatening to leap out and expose itself to Bobby and the others in the car, Jack swallowed hard and exhaled.

Bobby gave one last smile before returning to his seat, arms crossed over his chest, listening nonchalantly to them fight over whether they wanted subs or burgers.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note**: I suck at updating regularly, and I hate this chapter. It's too short and I just…_don't _like it. Boo. 3: Not my best writing ever, if I may say. Hopefully the next one will be better. For my sake _and _yours. XD

Regardless, thank you for reading and responding! I love you all. (:

- - - - -

Jeremiah and Angel had decided on burgers. Eagerly the two drove for the closest burger place that they knew of and hopped out of the car. Bobby and Jack lagged behind majorly, but neither Jeremiah nor Angel noticed as they continued into the restaurant, noses smelling food, their stomachs churning in need. Bobby and Jack looked at each other for a few seconds. The silence was choking at the both of them, egging out a words that were tucked beneath skin and bone. Neither of them wanted to speak. Jack was okay with just being there beside Bobby; he was okay just being in his presence. And as was Bobby.

Although the comfort levels were high, Bobby figured that it would be best if the two of them joined Jeremiah and Angel inside of the burger parlor. So sooner rather than later, Bobby pushed the driver's seat down and climbed out of the car. Jack followed subconsciously, mentally obsessing over how great the Mercer home was, over how great Bobby, in general, was.

As usual, Jeremiah and Angel were shoveling their food into their mouths feverishly once everyone had become situated. The waitress that they had (an older woman, late 40s at least, with big bleached hair and heavy make up) laughed at them with the chef from behind the counter because of their barbaric motions. They also quietly talked about how Jack just poked at his burger, taking a bite out of it here and there, while Bobby watched, coffee fuming in a mug before the elder male.

Jack knew that Bobby was watching him and _felt _when Bobby got frustrated with him not eating, so whenever he took a bite out of his burger, it was for Bobby. Albeit Jack was hungry, he just didn't feel…_right _eating in front of this many people, especially when people _other _than Bobby (or Evelyn) watched him. What were they thinking? Was it good or bad? Were they going to hurt him for not eating? The more he thought about it, the more his hunger subsided—but every time he looked up at Bobby, at those beautiful brown eyes, he flustered wildly and felt the hunger come flashing back into his system, like a water infiltrating a town after its dam had finally crumbled.

Bobby loved the fact that he could control Jack. Well, not really _control_, but influence him heavily. It was empowering and cute, really. Jack was like a life-sized puppy.

_If he were a dog…he'd probably be…a golden retriever. Yeah, because of his blond hair and the fact that he's really tall, but skinny. He's not that hyped up yet…but he's a golden retriver from a pound, so it's a given that he'd be sheepish for the first month or so, _Bobby thought, amusing himself. He sipped at his coffee nonchalantly with a smile while he watched Jack, eyes stern but outlined in a soft, caring tone, making Jack understand that Bobby wasn't out to hurt him. With a content sigh (and a burp from Angel's end of the table), Bobby tipped the mug further up to get more of its contents into his system, enjoying the rush that the caffeine gave him. He stared at the bottom of the off-white mug, the bottom of it covered in a light layer of creamy coffee.

After finishing the glass Bobby sat up, pardoned the waitress to come over and refill it, and resituated himself. He smiled at Jack briefly before diverting his attention back to the waitress, whom stood above him with a steaming pot of coffee.

She filled up his pot while saying, "You're not gonna eat anythin', darlin'?" She was chewing gum almost like a cow (_Just like Jeremiah… _Bobby thought teasingly) and she had an accent about her. It was thick and _definitely _not from this part of the United States; Bobby and Jack simultaneously checked her nametag (which read "HI, I'M BETTY SUE") and instantly knew where she was from: the South. Or, well, they made a pretty good guess as to where she was from. That accent was southern, not northern; more rural than suburban. "Growing men need more in their systems then _just_ coffee."

Jack watched as Bobby gave her a polite laugh, softly knitting his brows together before staring down blankly at his plate. Why was this lady even talking to Bobby? Especially about what he should do! Jack felt an uncommon feeling of jealousy, confusion and frustration welt up in his chest. He picked up his fork and stabbed at his food, not knowing that the chef was watching his somewhat feverish motions.

"I'm not in the mood to eat right now. I ate earlier—I just need some coffee," Bobby replied, almost dispassionately. "My brothers here," he said, gesturing towards Jeremiah and Angel (who nodded softly in recognition) and then lastly to Jack, who dipped his head despite the somewhat hostile feelings bubbling in his gut, "are the ones that need the food. I've basically _stopped _growing."

"Well, if you change your mind, just gi'mme a call, 'ight sweetheart?" she proposed, dipping her head.

Bobby nodded back in response and listened as she walked away. When she was gone from his sight, Bobby returned his gaze to Jack to see him still attacking his food. He rose a brow and cleared his throat, beckoning the blond's head to rise and for blue eyes to meet brown. "What's wrong?" he questioned softly, so that only he could hear him.

"I don't like her," Jack whispered back cautiously, eyes shifting back and forth slightly.

"Why not?" Bobby continued.

"I dunno," Jack whined quietly.

"There's gotta be a reason, Jackie."

"She looks scary."

_And she was too close to you._

Bobby laughed quietly. "You can't just _judge _someone on how they look, Jackie. What did you first think of me when you saw me? I mean, I'm not all sunshine and butterflies, though I know I seem like it."

Jack swallowed hard. "I thought…you were…scary…"

"And what do you think of me _now_?"

_I love you, I love you. You're my guardian angel and you keep me safe. Don't ever leave me._

"I think…you're _not_ scary…"

Bobby laughed again. "Is there another reason why you don't like her?"

Jack scratched his head and sighed. "I dunno. I just…she just randomly came up and…I dunno…I don't like her…"

_She talked to you for no reason. She got too close. Her make up is too thick. She's just scary!_

Bobby laughed for the third time and then sat up in his seat. "Some people do that, especially waitresses. It's their jobs. And not all of them are bad, Jackie. Some just…like to talk. Now—is there _one more _reason to why you don't like her?" It wasn't that Bobby _knew _that he was feeling territorial, but it was more along the lines of trying to see if there was anymore to why Jack didn't like their server.

"She was too close…to you…" Jack whispered.

"Hm?" Bobby asked.

"Too close…too close," Jack said, a little louder.

Bobby exhaled louder. "Just know that I'll never let never let them hurt you, 'ight?"

Jack nodded softly.

"Now eat your burger," Bobby commanded, though his voice was soft, as was his face. His arms crossed and were placed on the table before him, his head lowering a little so that the steam rolling upwards from his coffee cup would warm the underside of his jaw, where stubble roamed from either side of his jaw, and down to his Adam's Apple.

Jack nodded again and lowered his mouth to his food. With his eyes on Bobby's, he took a bit of the burger in his mouth and tore it off. He chewed it for a while, eyes never leaving Bobby's, and then swallowed hard. Bobby's eyes were soft, but so…Jack never wanted to go against anything that Bobby said, ever.

And with that, Jack continued to eat under the supervision of Bobby, trying to think of what the rest of his life would be like.

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **Next chapter will, most likely, involve a _major _time skip. Like, years. So, expect that. (: When I get around to it. I'm rather lazy and my muse leaves me a lot. : Still love you guys, though. R&R if you will. -;


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note**: Thank you again, guys. (: I really appreciate(d) the feedback. But, I need to directly respond to one: the one about me **emasculating characters** and being **repetitious**.

**One**, I _did _emasculate Jack _quite a bit_, with this one I agree with you a lot, but considering how much trauma I've put him through, I think it's completely normal. He's overly sensitive and he's looking for something to latch on—in other words, Bobby—and he's in an entirely different world in the Mercer home. In chapters later on (most likely this one, actually), you will see how canon Jack has taken over and left the younger Jack, easily impressionable, easily hurt and always thinking in a negative mind frame, in the dust. **And two**, I _do _repeat things quite a lot. For that I'm sorry, especially if it got on your nerves. I've got a thing for repetition and redundancies (haha, I did it there too!), which I most likely should've put a warning on. Haha. But, yeah; I repeated things so many times either because I wanted to stress it over and over—which ended up in me overdoing it, eh?—or, simply, me just forgetting about it and putting it back in there when I felt like it.  
It was _not _for the word count, I assure you this.

Other than that, I don't see any major flaws with my writing of this fan fiction—character wise, that is. Jack's character is a bit tweaked, but seeing as they left Jack's childhood basically a blur, dropping hints here and there about it but leaving it fuzzy overall, I figured I could take the ball and run with it and then craft it the way _Older _(Canon) Jack was. Which, I'm doing now. He _will _change, he _will _grow into his canon character's personality and he _will _not cause you to roll your eyes at him—I hope.  
c:

As for the lesbian(!…?) fiction, playing women isn't really my forte, despite the fact that I, myself, am a female. I might give it a shot later, just not now. (:

Hope you understood my message. And hopefully you didn't pick up on any sarcasm, because I wasn't trying to _be _sarcastic at the moment. TT; Thanks for reading, though. :3

NOW, ON TO THE NEXT CHAPTER/THIS CHAPTER!  
It's rather long and ranty, but bear with me, 'ight? My muse was (overly) alive for this chapter.

- - - -

**Four Years Later.**

_He's going to be late…well…he __**is **__late. Bobby, where the hell are you?_

"Jack! You still outside?"

"Yeah, Jer. Still outside…waiting for Bobby…" Jack replied solemnly, resting his head on the palm of his right hand as he sighed heavily, his breath coming out in a faint cloud before him. It floated away in a ghostly fashion until it finally blended in with the chilled air lingering around Jack's form, and everything else outside. Everything was so cold outside, mainly because of the inches of snow packed together on the ground, which let the coldness radiate up and around itself.

Jack had been out there, in the cold, amongst the chilled air and the frost-covered ground, for almost three hours. Although he was alone in human form, he had a heavy winter coat covering his shoulders (and Bobby's old leather jack beneath), a steaming pot of coffee, and a thing of creamer for company, as well as an ashtray, a pack of filtered cigarettes and an empty mug. All of them sat on the table before him, where his feet, crossed at the ankle, rested, seemingly frozen to their spots.

Well…the coffee _had _been steaming and it _had _been full, but it was empty now and the cold air was clinging to the glass, fogging it up and painting it with its frigid feather touches. Jack had half the mind to get up and refill it, however, he later figured that when he did (at that exact moment, actually) Bobby would show up.

That Bobby had a way of showing up _right _as Jack looked away.

So, out of wishful thinking, Jack closed his eyes and then turned his head away from the street, chewing on the inside of his cheek anxiously. Too bad he could only look away for a few minutes at a time.

He tried looking away from the street longr, cold and covered in a subtle blanket of black ice (_not enough to do any real damage but enough to make your wheels spin faster than normal and scare the shit out of you_, Jack thought with a gentle smirk), although whenever he did he ended up turning right back around, unable to keep his eyes away.

The only reason that he was outside, waiting for his older brother, his _savior, _was because he wanted to be the first to see him. He wanted to be the first to hug Bobby, the first to tell Bobby all that he had missed over the last year and a half, spare the bundles of information that Jack disclosed on their long telephone calls.

_And_ he wanted to be the first to _hit _Bobby for being two hours and fifty three minutes late, and for worrying him to death.  
Although Jack would try his hardest to not show that last part. Jack had changed a lot since arriving at the Mercer home. He showed his emotions but not as much. He was quiet, but not to the point of almost being called a mute; he carried conversations with Jeremiah, Angel, Evelyn and his (limited) number of friends at school casually—he just enjoyed thinking and subtle silence. He also had changed a lot, personality wise. He was more like Bobby than he was a scared little boy, unsure of what would happen to him if he made one minor mistake. Jack had confidence, although it dwindled and swayed uneasily at times, and he had a firm footing in life now.

Honestly, he owed most of the changing to Bobby and his guidance.

"You should come inside," the older male persisted softly as he rubbed his shoulder, still standing inside of the house. He nodded his head to himself, as if to emphasize what he was saying. It wasn't like Jack could really see his motions, though; he was angled towards the window and only had eyes for the street—and, hopefully in the new future, Bobby.

Not like that, though!  
Oh, no. Not like that.  
At least…Jack didn't _think _it was like that.  
Did he?

Jack shook his head softly, more to himself than anything, even though he was answering Jeremiah unintentionally at the same time, and leaned forward. He grabbed the white and red rectangular pack of cigarettes and pushed the lid back. Nimble fingers, blotchy and red, pulled out one of the sticks within the pack aimlessly and placed it between Jack's pink-and-blue-tinted lips. Then he placed the cigarettes back and grabbed his lighter. He flicked it once, but the wind killed the flame. Jack waited until the gust was gone before trying again. That time, though, his thumb wouldn't work right and when he flicked the wheel, it set a hot, burning pain through the digit. Seeing as his thumb was virtually numb, the heat woke it up and built a yelp within his chest, which Jack fervently sucked down. He tried once more and finally got it, a triumphant smile on his face, it blotchy and red like his thumb.

The cigarettes, which a guy at school had sold him for a few bucks (because Jack couldn't get them legally until [late next year), had been full earlier as well. They had even been in their wrapper still. But when Jack got antsy and was filled to the maximum with worry and excitement, he chain-smoked like no other to tire his nerves. Almost every stick of rolled up tobacco was gone, the nicotine swimming through his very veins at the moment—spare the two or three that remained in the pack before him.

Normally Jack wouldn't smoke at home because Evelyn disliked it—not that she did much about it, but the look on her face when she wrinkled her nose and told Jack time and time again that he smelt like a tobacco company had burnt down and reassembled itself on him…that look just broke his heart, even if it was jokingly spoken nine times out of ten—but he was far too nervous and impatient _not _to.

If he didn't have his cigarettes, his foot would've been tapping so loudly that the rock in the living room, Angel, whom had passed out on the couch after a long night, would've waken up and been pissed. Not to mention he would've bitten his nails all to shit and would've had to slap Bobby lightly across the face with a beaten up, probably bloody, hand.

So the cigarettes helped. Jack figured he would just shower after Bobby got home.

"Man, you're going to get pneumonia out here and then Ma's gonna kick Bobby's ass 'cause it'll be his fault. And then yours once you're better because it's your fault, too," Jeremiah mumbled, opening the front door and leaning against its frame. His arms crossed and his lips pursed together before he added, "You should come inside—or at least get a comforter or somethin'."

"I'm good, Jer," Jack returned, craning his neck to look at his older brother from the chair he was currently sucked into as he exhaled a mouthful of smoke. His neck screamed at him as he moved it, the very bone in it cracking in distress, causing Jack's face to lightly contort in pain. His neck had gotten so used to being hunched over towards his right shoulder that he had put a knot in it. It was going to be _so _much fun working it out later.

_I'll hit him for that, too, _Jack told himself, his smile growing a little as he envisioned it happening.

"You need somethin' to keep warm, Cracker Jack," Jeremiah insisted with a smirk. The nickname caused Jack's nose to wrinkle in disapproval, but overall he didn't really mind the name. Sure, it was a little racist, but it was only joking, so Jack sucked it up. The nickname came into existence the last time that Bobby was in town.

He, Jeremiah and Angel had gotten together for a "reunion drink" and had came back completely trashed. Jack was trying to sleep, as he had a major test the next morning and needed his rest, but was awaken by the drunken buffoons. So, to shut them up he jogged down the stairs and quietly yelled at them. He told them that if they wanted to drink all night and come home late that they needed to either wear muzzles or to not speak. Bobby just laughed, told him he was jealous, and then continued to listen to Angel tell them a story about this big black dude that was trying to out-hustle him. A few racial slurs were passed jokingly and, once again, Jack told them to be quiet—in which he was told, "Why don't you go upstairs, _Cracker Jack_? We're just havin' fun! Don't hate. I'll play dolls with you later."

Jack wrinkled his nose when he realized that Bobby had changed a lot over the passed four years, and then he took a long drag from his cigarette before letting his eyes flick back to the road. Still covered in blackish snow, still imprinted with tire tracks—still empty, other than parked cars; no Bobby yet. As Jack sighed, cursing Bobby in his head a little, Jack reminded himself how he had changed, as well. When he had just arrived at the Mercer home, Jack would have never even _dreamed _of talking like that about Bobby, let alone to him. It wasn't even that he was afraid of the other's reaction; he was just in awe of his help and didn't want the other angry or disappointed in him.

They had both changed a lot. Was it for good, or for bad?

_People change. It's alright for people to change. He's still Bobby, and you're still Jack, _he told himself sternly.

"You're about as thickskulled as Bobby, y'know that? Always doin' stupid shit, always makin' the same cracks as he does—it's like he cloned himself or somethin'. Brainwashed you," Jeremiah teased, a toothy grin plastered on his dark skinned face.

"That good or bad?" Jack asked back seriously.

"Both I guess," Jeremiah replied airlessly, his shoulders shrugging indifferently. "Jack—at least come inside and get another blanket. C'mon. Or make another pot of coffee—though your ass doesn't really _need _anymore caffeine, I'm sure. What happens if you get sick or somethin'? You'll both be in some trouble and neither of you'll be able to hang out with each other."

What Jeremiah said seemed to have made the reality switch click on inside of Jack's head. All of a sudden, all Jack could feel was the coldness that enveloped him—and he could only really feel it against his face, against his clothed knees and against his exposed fingers. When he was focusing on just waiting for Bobby, Jack had felt the temperature but not to the degree that he did now. It was fucking freezing; the cold made him want to run inside (if his legs weren't frozen stiff) and submerge himself in a hot bath. It made him want to drop his cigarette and just go into the living room where they were a plentiful supply of warmth, and kick Angel off of the couch so he could watch for Bobby from there. Jeremiah _did _have a point—and Jack felt it.

"Okay," Jack mumbled back after a few seconds of silence.

"You're comin' in then?" Jeremiah asked. Jack nodded slowly, his neck throbbing in pain. "I'll make some more coffee, alright?" Jack nodded again and watched nonchalantly as Jeremiah stepped from his potion against the doorframe to retrieve the coffee pot, the creamer and Jack's empty mug. He scolded Jack for being outside for so long from under his breath as his bare fingers were placed on each object.

Jeremiah was the most level-headed Mercer, and it showed in everything he did. He wasn't a lot like Angel or Bobby or Jack, though there were abundant similarities in the other two boys. He kept everyone in check while Evelyn and Bobby were away—in a safe way, too, unlike Bobby.

Bobby liked to live on the edge. Or, so he said. Everyone else just thought it was because he didn't bother to think, thus resulting in him living in the moment.

Angel was a mixture of Jeremiah and Bobby and a touch of his own rebellious flare. He acted like Bobby a lot, but at the same time he mediated things like Jeremiah did; he also had that suave, ladies' man thing going for him, most of which was strictly Angel's own ways.

Jack…well, Jack was like Bobby's clone, as Jeremiah elegantly put it. There was Jack's distinct personality, cautious and timid, but playful when comfortable, but it was rather watered down by Bobby's influence. It was natural, though, for Jack to be a lot like Bobby in his own person because of how close the youth was to his older brother.

"Jack—earth to Jack."

Shaken out of his thoughts, his deciphering of his brother's personalities, Jack looked up at Jeremiah with somewhat wide eyes. "Yeah?" he asked groggily, still chewing his cheek.

"You comin' or what? C'mon." And with that, Jeremiah dipped his head for the door, leading the way and expecting Jack to follow. Jack slowly stood up, his legs a little wobbly from not using them for a somewhat lengthy duration, and stretched. Most of the bones in his back cracked, the sounds pleasant and making the smile on his face more prominent than before. Jack, who was still smoking, _realized _he was still smoking and wrinkled his nose. He didn't want the cigarette right now—maybe later, though. So he stubbed it out, his fingers burning softly as the revived themselves, and left the short there in the ashtray, along with his nearly-empty pack of cigarettes and his lighter.

_Watch the fluid freeze, _he thought, still smiling.

Jack followed Jeremiah into the house, the heat hitting him like ever-so pleasantly. Then Jack turned and entered the living room, where, surely enough, Angel still rested. Deep inside, Jack wanted to wake the other up to get back at him for that time last year, but he swallowed that ill-will and settled for the armchair _near_ the sofa, in front of the window. He angled himself so he was facing the window as all times, eyes like little blue and gray individual hawks. This was nicer, waiting for Bobby from inside where it was warm. He could focus more in here.

Or so he thought.

Body exhausted from having to produce heat extremely quickly while he was outside for so long, Jack fell asleep against the armchair, which smelled heavily of cologne. Mainly Bobby's, as it was the strongest and most notorious in Jack's mind.

And because the smell was Bobby's, his mind contorted the dreams to come so that they revolved enjoyable around the older Mercer—who was going to get an earful for being so late.

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **Yay muse! Boo Bobby being late. Tx; _That Bobby. _Tisk, tisk, tisk!

More when I can. Love you guys!


	10. Chapter 10

_He's going to kick my ass—I'm so fucking late._

Bobby huffed softly to himself as he sat behind the steering wheel of his banged-up car, dents and scratches illustrating stories from the past as a new story was acted out before his person. There was as pile-up of cars before him on the highway _just _before the exit into Detroit, some merely scratched and others _completely_ totaled. Just his luck, right? Some stupid fuck, probably from a southern or western state if Bobby had to guess, had either forgotten his snow tires or failed to know what they were, causing him to swerve on the highway like a kid lubed up and thrown down a slip-'n-slide. Or, at least that's what it reminded Bobby of.

From his spot in his car, a good few feet behind a wall of parked police cars, Bobby couldn't see much of the collision. It didn't help that the people in wrecked cars had gotten out to inspect damages and to yell at one another. All in all though, he could sense that this was a bad accident. The cops that swarmed back and forth between parked cars helped to make that feeling grow worse, too. So did the fire trucks and ambulances that loomed in the distance, speeding down pads of the highway that didn't resemble the end product of a bumper car derby in the dark. Not to mention the sirens _yelling and yelling_. They were screaming so fucking loud that Bobby had to grind his teeth to keep his frustration back.

Stupid fucking law enforcement. It wasn't like people didn't know when they were there, so why did they traumatize everyone with those godforsaken sirens? Unable to keep some of his anger back anymore, Bobby hit his fist against the steering wheel and cursed loudly. The sound of his car horn echoed through the already noisy strip of asphalt, turning everyone silent. Slowly and creepily, almost everyone looked over at Bobby in his car with skeptical looks.

Bobby just rolled his eyes and sunk into his chair more, licking his lips a few times mindlessly. When was this shit going to clear up, honestly? He had been sitting here for about half an hour. Did these people know how cold it was? He could've sworn that his left nut had turned into an ice cube by now and, in a few more minutes, so would his right. Not to mention the fact that his ass was almost completely numb.

Couldn't they just like…push all of the fucked up cars to one side and make a passageway? Or were they having so much fun in making everyone else in their cars, unscathed, worried and pissed, late? Some people had _really _important places to be! Like home with family, enjoying the comfortable warmth of a heater and swapping stories with loving relatives.

Bobby had to be home soon, so they had better clear a passageway—because if Jack kicked his ass for being so late, he'd kick _everyone _else's asses. One by one; he didn't care.

- - - - -

After about another half hour the cops had cleared most of the scene. Bobby had been the first one out—almost causing another accident, as a matter of fact—and made sure to abide the speed limit…until he was out of sight. He was stubborn, not stupid. Bobby made sure he couldn't see the cops before him before pressing down hard on the gas, sitting up more in his seat and holding the wheel with a tighter grip. Normally he would've just cruised down the street and allowed everyone a good few seconds to soak in the fact that _Bobby Mercer _was back in town for a visit, but he _had _to get home. Jack was probably going to rip him a new one if Bobby had to guess. If he were Jack in this situation, he would rip him a new one, too.

And, just because Jack was _so _much like Bobby, the older male knew that it was a plausible outcome and that he needed to get the _fuck _home as soon as possible.

Gracelessly, Bobby pulled up in front of the Mercer home and fumbled with the keys so he could park it. He looked so uncollected and distracted, definitely not the Bobby Mercer everyone knew and, well, _feared_, but he still looked like Bobby. Except, now he used more gel to grease back his hair and he had allowed some more facial hair to accumulate. Other than that, Bobby Mercer was Bobby Mercer.

And, as Bobby Mercer, he had to wait outside for a moment to readjust himself. He smoothed his hair down and cracked his neck idly before rolling his shoulders a few times. He repeated _"cool, calm and collected"_ in his head a few times over and over before he was ready, by his standards, to go into his old house. Had to keep up that tough, suave, hardheaded appearance, right? Right.

Leisurely, Bobby stalked from his car to the front of the house, his hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his dark jeans. He took a few deep breaths before opening the screen door leading into the little area in front of the _actual _front door. On a table inside the room sat an ashtray, a lighter and some cigarettes, which beckoned a smile to Bobby's face. Jack had been outside. It _had _to be Jack, solely because Jeremiah and Angel only _drank_—and because, well, those two never brought anyone over who did smoke. That and, of course, Bobby had seen Jack smoking the last time he was around.

That was a pretty obvious hint, mainly because, if Bobby knew Jack, Jack didn't have the drive to quit something like smoking.

He shrugged his shoulders again before strolling into the house. The air that came out to greet him was as warm and welcoming as ever and the house had that lingering smell of Evelyn's favorite laundry detergent. A wider smile perched itself on Bobby's face as he cleared his throat loudly to make himself known. He stood in his spot for a second, waiting for someone to come say hello, but after some time had ticked away, Bobby found himself standing alone. Again he cleared his throat, this time louder, and stomped his foot a tad.

"Shut up, Jeremiah. Damn," Angel huffed from the living room. Following the younger male's words came a cry of distress from the metal springs of the sofa.

Bobby raised a brow and began into the living room, his arms crossing over his chest as he saw Angel sleeping there—and Jack asleep in the armchair. He had scolded Bobby…in his sleep? He smiled softly at the other and debated on whether or not he should wake him up. Didn't he need to scold Angel back? As Bobby went to slap Angel lightly on the top of his head, his name was barked. He tensed up and turned around, looking to see who called him. It _had _to be Jeremiah.

"Bobby—leave him alone," Jeremiah, surely enough, huffed softly. "C'mon into the kitchen."

"Ma' home?" Bobby asked, not skipping a beat as he followed Jeremiah slowly.

"Nah, just us. Ma's out doin' something…" Jeremiah muttered. When they reached the kitchen, Jeremiah pushed Bobby lightly into the fridge. Bobby caught himself as he wrinkled his nose, cursing under his breath at Jeremiah. What the fuck was that for? "Where have you been?"

"Got stuck in traffic," Bobby replied honestly.

"Stuck my ass. Jack's been waitin' outside for hours," Jeremiah huffed.

"I'm not lyin'! I was stuck in traffic!" Bobby grunted back, crossing his arms. When he said that and _wasn't _stuck in traffic, he got away with it—but when he was honest about it, he got yelled at for it? How messed up was that! "Look on the news later. A shitload of cars wrecked on the highway."

Jeremiah rolled his eyes indifferently. "If he gets sick, _you've _gotta tell that to Ma'."

"He's a grown man, Jeremiah! If he wants to be stupid and wait for me outside for hours, let him do it!" Deep down, Bobby was flattered that Jack had waited for him for _hours _outside, putting Bobby before being warm and comfortable. And even deeper down, Bobby felt awful that Jack had been outside in the cold for _hours_ because of _him_.

"He's seventeen—not a 'grown man' until next year, Bobby," Jeremiah countered. They both huffed under their breath and simultaneously looked over to the living room. Bobby watched Jack's chest go up and down as he slowly inhaled and exhaled to a rhythm playing in his head and in his head alone, while Jeremiah observed Jack's red cheeks and the way his spiky blond hair showed up so drastically against the flesh of his face. It was like it was stained red. He had been inside for at least forty-five minutes now, hadn't he? Why wasn't it back to normal yet? Jeremiah huffed loudly to get Bobby's attention. "His face is all red. Man, you've done got him sick waitin' for you."

"I didn't tell him to wait outside! If the fairy wants to wait outside, let him flutter around in the cold. Just let it be, Jer."

"Fine, you didn't tell him to wait outside, but you _did _tell him that you'd be home what…almost _four _hours ago? It wouldn't be so bad if he had waited for an hour, or an hour and a half, but he was out there for almost _three godforsaken hours_."

Bobby flinched in the slightest and rubbed his hand under his nose. Three hours? He was probably going to get sick.

_God dammit Jack…why are the things you do so fucking adorable?_

A loud sigh left Bobby's lips as he raised his arms in defeat. "I'm sorry, 'ight? It's not my fault people had to pick today to suck ass at driving." He walked into the kitchen more and to one of the counters. There, he pulled a mug from its post and placed it on the counter, while his free hand grabbed the pot of coffee. He poured the black liquid into the cup, swirled it around a few times, and took a long draught of it. It wasn't hot—hell, it wasn't even _warm_. How long ago had this been made? Deciding that he wanted to keep as far away from questions involving time, Bobby let it die. So he leaned himself against the cabinets and watched Jeremiah watch Jack.

"I've gotta wake Angel up and take him to this interview now. You keep an eye on Jack. If he wakes up and even _looks _sick, you better fix him some soup or something," Jeremiah mumbled softly, turning around to look at Bobby.

"What kind of interview? Gonna manage Hustlers-R-Us?"

"He's going into the Marines," Jeremiah said solemnly, but proudly. His head even raised a little.

"He's gonna be a jarhead?" Bobby questioned back, his brow raising as Jeremiah nodded. "Damn. Talk about a career change…"

"But like I said, watch after Jack," Jeremiah repeated. He began out of the kitchen when he stopped in the doorway. "And, if you say you 'forgot', or you were 'stuck in traffic', I will kick your ass." He smiled softly and so did Bobby. With that, Jeremiah walked to Angel.

From the counter Bobby watched Jeremiah shake Angel once. The younger male didn't budge. Jeremiah shook him again. Angel moved, but only in the slightest. Finally, Jeremiah just slapped Angel across the head. He howled softly and shot up from his seat, holding the top of his head protectively. His eyes were narrowed at Jeremiah bitterly as he murmured, "What the fuck, Jer?"

"Get up. Time to go to that interview."

Over the course of the next few minutes, Jeremiah and Angel got up and left. Bobby remained in the kitchen until his mug was empty, and when it was he sat it in the sink. Should he go wake up Jack or just wait for him to come to on his own? He mulled over it to himself as he chewed the inside of his cheek. On one hand, Jack might be hostile for Bobby having woke him, and on the other hand, Jack might be even _more _hostile for Bobby being so late.

After a few seconds, Bobby decided that he'd go into the living room and sit there beside Jack. Maybe the other would sense him and wake up? That way, he was virtually in the clear. He nodded to himself as he sat down on the couch, it still warm from Angel's body heat, and made himself comfortable. He was leaned back with his hands crossed over his chest, his eyes on the ceiling and his legs crossed at the ankle. Now…all he had to do was wait.

…But that didn't tide over well with Bobby Mercer. Not being entertained and left to his own devices…just wasn't a good mixture with him. So, he stood up, fixed his pants, gave Jack a once-over and then went for the stairs. He climbed them rapidly and, once on the landing, looked from his bedroom to Jack's slowly. His room hadn't changed, he knew that much, so Bobby decided to check Jack's room. Just because he needed something to do.

When inside the room, Bobby pocketed his hands and looked around casually. Everything looked like it did last time, from the acoustic guitar laying long-ways on the bed, to the stereo sitting casually on the shelves on the headboard, to the posters that rested comfortably on the four walls around him. There were even the same amount of soda cans sitting on the shelves as last time. Where they new or old? Bobby hoped they were new, but he wouldn't put them being old passed Jack. He was almost a kleptomaniac, Jack was. He still had that water bottle from the first day he was here in the Mercer home. Or, at least Bobby thought. Last time he was there, it was in Jack's sock drawer.

Wanting to see if it was still there, Bobby stalked over to it and gently pulled the drawer out. It squeaked in distress (like always, hence Bobby's caution), even as he gave the gentlest of pulls. After he had pulled it out though, he was in the clear. So without hesitation Bobby searched through the socks and pairs of boxers before him, a gentle smirk on his face. But, after a few seconds and no bottle, Bobby reckoned that he had thrown it away. He wrinkled his nose before sighing, a little disappointed. That bottle was so sentimental, too…

But then, out of the corner of his eye, Bobby noticed a water bottle tucked under a mountain of socks. He lightly dug it out and smiled at the empty bottle. There it was! Taking a second to just study it, Bobby exhaled happily.

Finding himself bored again shortly after, Bobby pushed the drawer back in and exited the room. He descended down the stairs slowly as he mulled over the thoughts claiming his head.

"Bobby?"

Bobby looked over and into the living room as soon as his name was called. He rose a brow as he studied Jack, now sitting up in the armchair. His face was equally as quizzical—and still beet red. "Hey, ya' little fairy," Bobby said with a gentle smile. "Jeremiah tells me that you were practicing to become an Eskimo. When's the initiation ceremony? Do I get to walk you down the aisle?"

"They're Inuits, Bobby," Jack huffed softly with a roll of his eyes. "And I would've have been out there that long if you had been on time." His words were tinted with hurt and a cold that had yet to completely make itself known. He was going to be sick later, wasn't he? Fuck it all.

"I was stuck in traffic," Bobby mumbled back defensively while he walked into the living room. He took a seat on the couch next to the armchair, letting his weight fall into the seat heavily, and looked over at Jack for a reply.

"For like two hours, Bobby?" he countered, as expected. Bobby huffed and lightly hung his head. "You could've called me, y'know. Told me you were gonna pull this stunt or somethin'."

"I don't like cell phones. Most companies have trackers in those little shits—I can't have people tracking me, now can I?" Bobby inquired with a smile, hoping to turn the conversation around.

"Bobby," Jack grunted.

"Fine, fine—I'm sorry for being late and ruining your party. Want me to get the tissues for when you cry?"

"Asshole."

"I know you like it in the ass, but I don't need to know more about that, Jackie."

Jack cracked a smile—before sneezing. He grumbled to himself and snuggled into his chair, blond hair being forced to part.

_Ah, god dammit—he's sick..._

_Gah I'm sick…_

Without a word, Bobby stood up and began for the kitchen. Jack, who was still recovering from that rather painful sneeze, looked at him questioningly before uttering, "Where're you going?"

"To make your fairy-ass some soup. You want ass-crack and ball-sack?"

"_What?_"

"Chicken and noodle—do you want chicken and noodle soup?"

"Oh…yeah, sure. …Why're you making me soup?"

"Because if I don't, Jeremiah's gonna kick my ass."

"Heartwarming. I thought you cared."

"I care about my ass, Jacquelyn."

_I love you to__** death**__, Jack._

"Asshole…"

_I know you care about me._

"I **know **you like it in the ass, Jack. How many times must I tell you that I don't want to hear about your kinky ass-sex stories?"

"You fucking suck, Bobby."

_I love you, Bobby. I love you, I love you, I love you. As a brother and…as something more? I don't fucking know, really. You amaze me, and you confuse me and…gah…_

"Not as much as you do, Princess."

- - - - -

**Author's Note: **Hahaha. I love them. (:

R&R!

I don't know when the next chapter will be done—hell, I don't even know when I'm starting it. But I have a **major **history project on the Social Classes/Caste System in Ancient India (up until like 1,500 A.D. or something) and, sadly…that's more important than my fan fiction. ): If I don't do this project, I'm going to fail this nine-weeks. If I don't update for like a week…I think you guys will live. But, once I've got this out of the way (for now; it's a two-part little shit, but the second part due isn't until later) I _should _be updating regularly. Yay.

But…if I have free time…I will write. (; I sacrifice a lot for my readers—mainly because I procrastinate, but whatever. Haha.

Thanks for reading!


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